Where We Begin
by J.D. Castle
Summary: This story was started early in season six. It looks at Booth's attitude towards Brennan, and the road to healing their relationship. There also is an actual crime story woven throughout. I'm starting with the first two chapters, but there's more done...
1. Chapter 1 Brennan's Revelation

**Chapter One  
Brennan's Revelation**

The light we see from the sun starts out millions of years before the warmth of those rays registers on the human body. Were it any closer, those rays would burn and destroy humanity and the earth as we know it. Therefore, it is good that its light takes the time it takes. It is good that what we call a sunny day is made from light that has been in existence for millions of years, racing towards our acknowledgment of it. Each single ray that bursts forth from the sun provides heat and light for us and our planet. Our entire world is shaped by this light it receives, light that started so long before we knew it was coming. I am thinking about this as I contemplate the fact that I am in love with Booth, and have been since the moment I saw him. Only, I didn't realize it… I had to go away to understand…and now…now I have to live with this knowledge unspoken.

When did I stop believing in love? That is another thing I've been considering. As a baby, Dad said I would cry whenever I was picked up, but he was determined that I get over it. He would pick me up every hour and hold me for ten minutes – even if I screamed the entire time. If he didn't, he made my mother do the same thing. By the time I was three months old, I would hold out my arms and cuddle on Dad's shoulder. As a child, I knew my mother and father loved each other, and that they loved me and Russ. I never walked in on them having sex, but I certainly had seen them kiss – tongues, the works. I would see and hear the children in my junior high school giggling about who was in love with whom, see boys and girls holding hands. They looked happy, but then there were times I'd walk into the bathroom and there would be a group of girls comforting a girl sobbing over some boy who had broken up with her. I never said anything, and mostly they never said anything to me.

In high school, there was kissing in the hallways, in cars, and at school dances, I didn't really go to them much. Dad said it was good for me to go, but mostly I'd hang around outside, dancing to the music by myself (It only took a couple of times for me to realize that my classmates thought I was a terrible dancer, and were laughing at me.) or watching them dance to a slow dance. The boy would put his arms around her, their bodies so close…

I observed the rituals. The ones where the boy really liked the girl, and the ones where he didn't really, he just wanted her to have sex with him. I knew I didn't want to be a girl that boys just wanted to have sex with. I wanted a boy to look at me like I was special, beautiful…in high school they never did.

Then, mom and dad were gone. Russ went away, and I went into foster care. It was bad. In a year I must have stayed with eight different families…. I graduated at sixteen, but I couldn't go anywhere. Legally, I was a ward of the state until I was 18. I'd been offered scholarships to many different schools. I'd scored a perfect SAT and ACT, and passed all AP tests that would let me skip my entire freshman year. Only, I was moving around so much the paperwork which would have let me know those things never caught up to me.

It wasn't until my "grandfather" signed me out of foster care that I found out about the colleges and AP scores. Today, I'm pretty sure the man was a friend of my father's, but I've never asked him about it. I knew he wasn't my grandfather, though. I knew my grandparents were dead. However, this man knew a lot about me, my parents, and my brother. He acted like he cared about what would happen to me – and he'd found out about my college opportunities. He took me away on a plane to his house in the mountains of Colorado. We didn't talk much. I had become even less of a talker since foster care. I remember him showing me the stack of pamphlets to colleges and saying I could go to anyone that I wanted – because they all wanted me.

It was a heady feeling. I'd never felt wanted by anyone besides my parents and brother – and they had all left. These schools wanted me…because I was smart. I was used to people not wanting me around because I was smart. Once I'd picked out schools, and applied, we talked about what would be happening next. I understood I'd never see this man again once I left for school. He taught me how to keep a checkbook, read bank statements, grocery shop…he created a bank account for me, and said there would be 1500 dollars put into it on the first of each month for the next 10 years, and that he would keep in touch by mail.

That September – I went away to school – as a sophomore. I quickly was bored. I hadn't minded so much in high school, but in college there was so much free time. I shocked my professors by handing in all the work for the syllabus within the first month of class…all perfectly correct – and often beyond what was being asked. That's when I was sent for IQ testing. Believe it or not, it had never been done before. By the end of the semester, I had completed all the course work for my sophomore and junior year. I was on track to graduate that May. That spring I met Michael…I wasn't yet eighteen.

It was Michael who took me with him to Waco – suggesting it as a good senior project for me. I don't think he expected me to do as well as I did. He had no idea how long I'd been studying dead bodies of all sorts since I was a child, and I had an ability he didn't – I can look at a skull's structure and see the person's face as if they were standing in front of me. I don't actually know why that is. I mean, yes, there are certain facial markers that tell certain things, but I can look at a skull, and then look at a photo, and see if they matched. I just can. Usually when trying to identify a body, you don't know the possibilities of who it could be. At Waco there were pictures of most of the people in the compound. It got so people would skip Michael and come directly to me with skulls and pictures. I was so happy and proud that I could do something that really helped, I didn't notice Michael wasn't too happy. Especially when there was a story about me in some newspapers…. I wanted to impress him, to not have him regret having brought me along. Eventually he must have…but that was much later. He became my advisor for my combined Master's and Doctoral program – and he took me everywhere. Every dig, every tragic happening in the world, Michael went – and I went as his student. He was always pushing me, supporting me, and…competing with me.

However, he wasn't the only professor to affect my life. My Asian studies professor, Dr. Wu, amazed me. He was 70 years old, but his appearance was that of a man of 50. I remember arguing with him over the existence of chi – that the idea of some mystical force was illogical, and that the feats performed by martial artists could all be explained by science. He surprised me by agreeing that it was so, but that most people would not do the experiential research to prove it. Would I be interested in pursuing some of that research? He became my first martial arts instructor, and I began to feel, for the first time in my life, the energy flows within my body: the sensation of blood pulsing in my veins, my breath in my lungs, I could picture each muscle and bone when I moved. I had studied the dead for so long, but Dr. Wu gave me a study of physical life: my own. I became aware of how I moved in space, and the klutziness I'd had most of my life rapidly started to disappear. I became physically stronger, but also my ability to be in the world improved. I started noticing other people and how they moved in the world - especially the women Michael dated. I would watch them, how they dressed, wore their hair…

I had always noticed Michael's body. I had been noticing the male figure since about 13. My mother had placed the book, "Our Bodies, Our Selves" in my room when I was twelve – along with a note inside that said, "Don't tell your father." Of course, I had already read "The Alchemy of Love and Lust," by Theresa Crenshaw, MD. Thus, I already knew the various reactions I experienced when looking at or thinking about certain boys were hormonally induced. I learned how to pleasure myself as well; there were many books on that subject. The classic Betty Dodson's "Sex for One," was the clearest in the "how to" area of knowledge, but I also recall reading, "The Woman's Book of Orgasm: A Guide to the Ultimate Sexual Pleasure" which I found in mom's nightstand while searching for a pencil.

However, I had never dared to actually approach a male sexually. For most of my life I'd felt too awkward, different, and unattractive. Dr. Wu, and martial arts gave me an entirely sense of myself. I realized being tall didn't mean I should slouch. I had thick, long, wavy dark hair and blue-gray eyes that were wide, and spaced symmetrically correct on my face – neither too close nor to far apart. I was a 34 D cup bra, which meant I had larger than average breasts – but not obnoxiously so. When I relaxed my face and smiled – which took practice – I had a lovely smile. I actually was pretty. It seemed that perhaps I could in fact attract a mate. Still, I knew I was late in my experience. I would need to practice and learn how to apply the knowledge and techniques I had only read about in books from my high school days, as well as more recent titles such as "Sexual Behavior in the Human Male" and "Sexual Behavior in the Human Female" - both by Alfred Kinsey, and several specific manuals on how to arouse and release sexual pleasure in a male. In deference to my martial arts training, I also perused the Kama Sutra.

Michael was my mentor in everything that pertained to my eventual career. I suppose I could simply call him my mentor. Our discussions were exhilarating, and as we argued points I could feel the heat in my body rise, anger and laughter mixed together. His body was very fit and muscular. Sometimes, out on a dig, he would strip off his shirt and I would momentarily be transfixed. I thought he didn't notice, but the fall before I was to defend my doctorate we were in Costa Rica, and he was stripped down to nothing but shorts. His chest glistened with sweat and for a moment I couldn't think. "Tem-pe." he called out, laughing. "Like what you see?"

I know I blushed, which made him laugh more. He came over to me and tilted my face up to his. "You've never had sex have you, Tempe?" I couldn't breathe, and shook my head. He smiled that seductive smile I'd seen flashed at many a woman before.

"You want to though, don't you? That's why you're always staring at me when I strip… gets all those hormones firing."

Mortified, I tried to look away, "I'm sorry, Michael, I –"

"Don't be. You're a beautiful woman. I can't touch you though – not until you graduate, ok?"

"When I graduate?"

"Yeah, I think a very special graduation present is in order for you."

The look in his eyes and the bulge in his shorts made his meaning very clear. I smiled back at him. I understood.

"Well, that is absolutely an incentive to have my dissertation letter-perfect in March." I couldn't believe I got that out, nor the next thing, "the thought is making those hormones of mine cause very copious glandular secretions in my vaginal area." I remember his sudden sharp intake of breath, the jerk in his already bulging shorts. I wanted more. "Does the rule include touching yourself, Michael? I've never seen that either."

He actually groaned aloud. "Temperance! I have NEVER been overtly sexual with a student of mine."

I hadn't been lying about the glandular secretions, and seeing his discomfort was causing more of it, more than even my own masturbation sessions. "What if I wasn't your student anymore? What if I decided to change advisors?" I took a step towards him, unaware of doing so.

"You want it that badly, Tempe?"

Nor did I realize I had reached out towards him until my fingers touched his chest, grazed his nipple. "Yes…."  
His hands encircled my waist and waves of heat coursed through my body.

"So…you're no longer my student?"

Our bodies were pressed together; I could feel every inch of him, more so as his hands slid down, grabbed my buttock, and ground my hips into his, a gasp of pleasure – unbidden – came from my lips. "Not for anthropology."

Michael chuckled – right before he kissed me – I'd never been kissed before either. His tongue invaded my mouth, awaking sensations I'd never experienced – there really isn't a way to simulate the sensation of being kissed. The combination - his chest again my breasts, his incredibly stiff penis nestled deep in-between my thighs, pressing against my vulva through my shorts, his tongue caressing mine, and every inch inside my mouth – completely overwhelmed me and moments or minutes into it I screamed in orgasm against his mouth.

The next thing I remember is my head tucked against his shoulder, his hands stroking my hair, his voice, husky and soft, whispering, "Tempe, Tempe…" into my ear. My shorts were sticky and damp and I realized he'd had an orgasm also. It was heady to know it wasn't just I that had been overwhelmed and lost control. Still, I felt a little embarrassed. I felt his lips brush my temple and I pulled away a bit to look at him, "I couldn't…"

His eyes were still dilated, but they gleamed with a possessiveness I'd never seen before. Who knew eyes could own a person?

"You'd never even kissed before…it's what pushed you over." his fingertips slid down my cheek, brushed my still swollen lips. I nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. He kissed me on the forehead and held me close again.

"Graduation day, Tempe. I don't want you hormonally distracted just as you're finishing up."

I whispered "ok" as he stroked my back.

"Peterson can advise you the rest of the year. You're way smarter than him, but he knows how to navigate the hoops and bureaucracy better than anyone, and he's excellent with paperwork. He'll make sure all your 't's' are crossed."

"He's an editor?" I could feel him holding back his laughter.

"No…he'll make sure that all the papers you need to file are done correctly and that you cover all the points that your committee wants – including his."

"Oh." I let go of him a bit.

I knew he was right. After what had just happened, he couldn't be on my committee. If anyone every found out about us it would taint the legitimacy of my work – and my career.

"Don't look so sad, little protégé, remember your graduation present."

He grinned a wolf's grin, and I grinned back. Suddenly though, he got serious. "Tempe?"

"What?"

"You know that romantic love is just hormones and chemistry, right?"

I hesitated a moment and then laughed, "Of course, Michael. You've seen my IQ."

Michael laughed, "Yes, I have, Tempe, I certainly have."

Perhaps that is when I stopped believing...

**Chapter Two  
****Booth:  
The Silence**

I don't know when I started to register it. Came back to D.C. to help Cam, and had to leave Hannah in Afghanistan. She's a really hot woman, and I wasn't thrilled to be leaving her. Still, no one was more surprised than me when she showed up in D.C... I'd already been lording it over Bones, flashing Hannah's picture around to anyone who would look. Yeah, it was a crappy thing to do. Furthermore, when Hannah first got here, I got a kick over her kissing me in public and getting to walk into work late talking about how great she was in bed. I wanted to hurt Bones. I wanted her to see what HER fear had cost her. Because I knew it was fear. It wasn't that she didn't want to be with me, just her fear that she couldn't do it right: That somehow she would do something to hurt ME. I knew the unspoken as well. She feared she would hurt me – and that would make me go away. Funny how she saw it as it being her fault if it didn't work out. Should have told me something. At the time though, I was pissed. Listening to her, seeing her tears, all I could think was, "You're scared? Like, you think it wasn't scary for me to bring the topic up? It took me six damn years just to suggest it." I wasn't even thinking about how my own fears could be effecting my viewpoint. I just knew that I was angry and hurt. I wasn't going to get what I wanted when I wanted it – if at all. Fine, I had offered. If she wasn't ready, well then fuck it.

Now, I wish…I wish I hadn't been such an ass about moving on. It only took me sitting in a single G.A. meeting last week for me to realize I'd taken a gamble; a wager on whether or not she'd be with me. That's what happens when you stop going to meetings, though. The old way of thinking starts creeping back in.

Now, she's sitting scrunched up against the car door, window open, staring out with her sunglasses on, wind blowing her hair back. It feels like she tries to be as physically far away from me as possible. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes?"

She doesn't even turn to look at me. "Any ideas about how this body ended up hanging out in a baseball field?"

"There was nothing in the report to indicate the body was hanging."

She still hasn't looked at me. "'Hanging out,' Bones, as in they found the body there on the ground."

"I fail to see the correlation. If something is found on the ground, why call it hanging?"

"Never mind the language, Bones. Do you have any ideas about how the body got there?"

"I haven't seen the remains, nor the site. It would be impossible for me to formulate a hypothesis."

I want to scream at her, but that probably wouldn't get a reaction either. She doesn't react to anything I say anymore. Not that she completely ignores me. When we are working on a case I have complete access to her mind. She reassures me about my work when I have a doubt or concern. She still listens to my theories. Hell, a couple of weeks ago she'd taken a suspect down who made a lunge at me - hit him so hard his rib broke. (They never expect it from her – gets them every time.) However, suggesting spending non-work time together, or bringing up personal, non-work topics have thus far been torpedoed with one word answers, or a vague "I don't know what that means."

It had been different all those years ago. We'd had that almost one-night stand and soon after we started fighting. I couldn't believe she'd left me hanging after that kiss. Sure, I'd been a bit tipsy, that's why I figured we should cab it. I'd guessed the professor had had second thoughts. Yet, she'd seemed just as furious as I felt and I couldn't say or do anything that wouldn't set her off. Granted, I'd been saying and doing things to set her off on purpose, enjoying the snap-crackle-pop between us. That is, until she slapped me at work. It took a couple of months for the ribbing to die down. Still, even when burning with fury, she was still really hot.

There's no energy like that now. Just this silence rests between us. It's there whenever we're alone – like now – or if I walk into a room. Today when I came to her office to tell her about our case, I'd found her laughing with Hodgins. I realized I hadn't heard her laugh in a long time. I asked what was so funny, but Hodgins high-tailed it out of there. Bones had shut down as soon as she'd seen me. Busily shuffling papers on her desk she said it wasn't something she knew how to explain. It was a better answer than her usual "you wouldn't understand." At least here she was faulting herself for not being able to explain, instead of implying I was too dumb to get it. Of course, it still implied that she was way smarter than me, but I didn't go there. Hearing her laugh had hurt. It hurt a lot. It made me realize just how far I must have taken things over these last few weeks.

I'd wanted to hurt her, and I had succeeded. It didn't feel good at all. She's been working too much, not eating enough, her usual denial behavior. This silence, thought, is new and it's slowly killing me. Friends don't try to deliberately hurt each other. Sure, Bones has talked to me about the various relationships she's been in. However, she'd been completely unaware that I might have some feelings around what she was sharing. Heck, I was the one who had encouraged her to have that kind of openness. I'd wanted her to trust me, and when I saw she still didn't trust me enough…I went and threw whatever trust I'd had away. Not because I was sleeping with Hannah, but for everything else. Pushing when she wasn't ready, not giving her time to think – which I ALWAYS had done, and she has ALWAYS come around. Did I do that this time? No. The entire pattern of our relationship built over YEARS - gone in two minutes.

The worst though has been my flaunting Hannah, when I knew, deep down, that she loves me. I can count on one hand the times Bones has cried over her emotions – and she'd been crying that night. I'd just been too angry at losing my self-wager to think about what that meant. Later, my pride wouldn't let me acknowledge what I'd done wrong, only wallow in self-pity over her rejection – which I made damn sure she didn't see. My side of the street is quite messy. I'm not sure how to clean it up, but I want to. I want us back. I want her: her straightforwardness, her quirky way of messing up phrases, the way she would look at me as if I was her whole world.

"Isn't that the turn-off for the baseball field?"

"Damn it!" I make a quick, illegal U-turn. Bones doesn't say anything.

As we are walking toward the field, I try engaging with her again. "Parker won his game last week."

She smiles at that, "Tell him congratulations for me."

"I will. He'd love it if you came to a game again."

She hesitates a moment, "I can't right now. However, if you can't make a game for some reason let me know. I'll make sure to be cheering for him in the stands. – There's the body."

She strides away, leaving me blinking back tears. She won't/can't abandon Parker, but can't bear to spend time with me – not even for Parker. Hannah and Parker have yet to meet. She's managed to be working every weekend, and Rebecca won't let me do anything with him during the week. Especially to meet, "some blonde bimbo you met in the desert."

I watch Bones walking in that shapeless, standard issue jumpsuit. I've never seen her naked – although she's seen me. My mind tries to fill in the blanks of what I haven't ever seen. She's very different from Hannah: Tanner for one, and curvier, taller. Hannah's kind of model-like, but petite: fair, slender, blond. I brush the tears back angrily. I'd just banged Hannah this morning, and it had been good, had her moaning like a little porn star. I shouldn't feel nausea at the memory. Maybe it's my Catholicism. I like Hannah ok…but I love Bones, and sex should be for the one you love… Damn it! Bones had said no! Unfortunately, the Jiminy Cricket in me won't shut up: "She didn't say no because she doesn't love you, Seeley. You're the one who let her go."

I force myself to focus. Bones is already kneeling and examining the body. Someone has really died, and that is more important than the fact that every time I look at Bones I feel like I'm dying inside. I walk quickly over to join her. "What'cha got, Bones?"

"Caucasian Male, 17-22. Cause of death could be head trauma. However, it appears the body has been burned…I'll need Cam to examine the traces of flesh still left on the bones, and Hodgins to analysis the soil from this mound of dirt, there's soot and ash-"

" – pitcher's mound, Bones –"

"– which implies that the body could have been burned here. Have your people look for any drag marks leading towards the mound, traces of ash and/or blood. I don't want to assume the murder actually took place here."

She's running her hands along the bones of the body and I kneel down beside her. "Anything else?"

"I'll go over the body more at the Jeffersonian. Preliminary findings indicate he was likely some kind of athlete, one that required use of his left shoulder more than his right."

"Like a baseball pitcher?"

"Yes."

I watch her gloved hands trace the face on the skull. "Bones?"

"Despite having had his nose broken in his early teens, he was a strikingly attractive young man."

I hear the sadness in her voice, and see the sadness in her eyes; regret at a life snuffed out so callously. I know that voice and look won't appear again until this case is over. I am one of the few people who are aware of and have witnessed this part of her: the pain of being able to see the person as if they're alive in front of her, while simultaneously seeing the bones that have been left behind.

I touch her shoulder and she flinches. God, she hates when I touch her? Is this a new thing or was it just my unexpected contact? She turns to look at me directly as I speak. "I just – it still amazes me what you can see looking a skull." I watch the conflict of emotions flicker across her face, pleasure, confusion, sadness. She bites her lip, and for a moment we are connected again, the way we used to be, "Temperance."

"Hi guys!" Fuck. Hannah's timing couldn't be worse. I watch Bones drop her mask back in place and she abruptly stands. I take a deep breath and turn to greet Hannah. Only, it's not just Hannah. She's here with a camera crew and dressed for business. The police were holding them back behind the yellow tape. The cop closest to her, gives me a dirty look. "She says that she's a friend of yours, Agent Booth." A couple of the cops snicker. I don't have to look at Bones to know that she's furious. I wonder if she realizes that I am too.

As I'm getting up, Bones gives me rapid-fire directions. "Have the body and soil samples sent to the lab. Also, I'll need photos of the entire baseball area."

"It's called a field, Bones."

Her head whips around to look at me. Oh, yeah, she is mad. "This," she points out the baseball diamond and outfields, "is the baseball field. I need pictures of the ground from the entire area: the dugouts, the bleachers and the parking area – not just the stupid 'baseball field.'"

With that she storms away. When did she learn about baseball? I give my guys the orders and trot a bit to try catching up with her. She's already near the police tape, near Hannah. I can tell Hannah's not going to let her just walk by.

"Anything you can tell us about the body, Dr. Brennan?"

Already I can hear Hacker laying into me about letting Bones talk to the press. I don't run, but I do move a bit faster. Oh God, she's saying something.

"Actually, yes, there is something I can impart." Hannah moves in closer to Bones with the mic, with that predatory gleam in her eye. I am fucked.

"Upon careful examination I can absolutely verify that the body is dead. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and finish doing my job."

I feel my jaw drop open. At the same I hear the chuckles fan through the policemen holding back the small crowd that's been gathering behind the tape barriers.

"Good one, Dr. B!"

Who the hell was that? My eyes shift immediately towards the voice. It belongs to a younger officer – probably no more than thirty: light blue eyes, dark hair, about 5'11", ruddy complexion. I watch this guy let her through the tape, a big stupid grin on his face. Then Bones actually smiles at him, "Thanks Ryan."

I take a couple of steps towards them, completely forgetting that Hannah is right there.

"Special Agent Booth – "

"- Not now."

I catch the look she gives me, but I don't care. I'm pissed at her for trying to trade in on sleeping with me, and I need to find out who this cop is Bones just smiled at and knows by first name – and is walking away with!

"Yo, Stephens, keep an eye on Journo Barbie over there. I'm gonna give Dr. B a ride back to the museum."

"Sure thing, Murphy."

Murphy. The guy's name is Ryan Murphy. I definitely will be running that name through the FBI data base. The guy turns back towards Bones. They are halfway to the parking lot. Is she sleeping with him? It's the only thought burning through my brain. It's one I have no right to ask considering my morning of fucking Hannah senseless – hell, months of fucking Hannah senseless. I'd been throwing the fact in Bones' face for weeks. Why wouldn't she seek to numb the pain the same way I had?

He's younger than me, younger than her. Then again, Hannah is younger than both of us also. She's not that much younger than Bones' – 32 to Bones' 35. As I contemplate this, I sense someone close staring at me from behind. I know it's Hannah, but I just walk away, because if I see her, I'm gonna lose it. There's too much going on within me: anger at her, jealousy about this guy connecting with Bones, sadness that she and I are not connecting, self-hatred for how I've been treating the woman I…the woman I love.

"Seeley."

I don't turn around. My voice comes out low, "We're done, Hannah."

I continue walking towards my car. I might have heard her say, "I know," but can't be sure. At any rate, she doesn't follow me.


	2. Chapter 3 Collision

**Chapter Three**

**Collision**

I am grateful to see Ryan. We haven't spoken since last week. I have not been down to O'Malley's since then, which would explain the lack of contact. I found O'Malley's a few weeks ago. I was looking for someplace to be alone, where none of the Jeffersonian crew or FBI agents would be congregating. O'Malley's seemed dark but cheerful, a whimsical rainbow swished over the top, ending in the golden "O" in O'Malley's. I went inside and there was whimsical music on as well, I believe the genre – from the middle 70's – is called disco. Appropriately enough, the song playing was called, "Staying Alive."

I was feeling awful. I'd just had a private session with Sweets that had made me question my entire partnership with Booth. We had discussed the differences in work partnership vs. friendship, vs. romantic partnerships. I saw, for the first time, how we had blurred the lines. Aside from the occasional office out gatherings for after-work drinks, work partners rarely meet for dinner if it doesn't involve work. They certainly don't go over to each others' homes to have drinks one-on-one. Friends might, a lover absolutely. However, work partners absolutely do not come over at midnight or later with Thai food just because you've had a bad day, or they're feeling lonely. Lovers do that. Sweets suggested that we had fallen into these patterns and that is why I was at times uncomfortable with Hannah - even though I was pleased for Booth. As an experiment, he thought I might want to practice being strictly Booth's work partner: no personal conversations, no shared meals or drinks that weren't work related, no late-night calls or visits unless it was a work emergency. Once I was comfortable with the new pattern, I could decide if I wanted to expand the relationship to friendship. While I normally hate psychology, this idea was simply about creating new patterns of behavior, and seemed logical, so I agreed to it. No sooner had I gotten back, Cam came by with Booth with some new information on a case I thought was closed. I must have looked dejected, because Cam suggested we all go out for drinks later. Booth immediately said he could only go for a while because he would be meeting Hannah for dinner. Remembering Sweets' advice I explained I just wanted to get this case closed. Booth cajoled me a bit to try and make me go, but I didn't acquiesce. Eventually they left. That's how I ended up at O'Malley's that night.

I hadn't had interest in pursuing sexual interaction in a while, way before Maluku. I had attempted it with Andrew, thinking that perhaps his interest in me could somehow lead to a mutual attraction. It never did. I found it difficult to try indulging in strictly physical pleasure laced with intellectual repartee, and in truth, I noticed that the idea of Andrew touching me made my stomach upset. Somehow Booth's ideas about making love…and of people leaving marks on each other, had sunk into my brain, and my behavior had shifted unknowingly. In Maluku I'd had no interest in sex at all. My mind had been caught up in chasing the origins of the strange remains, and with deciphering what my feelings were for Booth. However, it wasn't until coming back from Maluku that I discovered just how much I had changed sexually.

I made the discovery a couple of weeks after Booth returned. The case had been completed and I needed to blow off some energy. I'd hung out at After Hours, a place halfway between work and my apartment. Angela had introduced it to me years ago – before Hodgins was a factor in her life. It was, and still is, what is known as a pick-up bar. Angela and I had similar outlooks on sex. Angela believed that sex could be fun and hot without being in love – but that being in love made it even better. I didn't believe in love – at least not then – but I fully believed in sex being a fun, hot, pleasurable activity. I didn't indulge in it too often, because, if the sex was good, I found it far too easy to get entangled with the person – like with Peter. He was a complete jerk. Great sex though. He'd said I was cold and unfeeling, but in truth I just didn't like him, and didn't know how to extricate myself from the relationship. Granted, it helped that we both traveled often, so it took a while for my dislike of him to register into my awareness. Since then, I'd made sure that at least liked the person before having sex with them, thus hadn't been to After Hours in quite a long time. However, that evening I planned to locate a man I found physically appealing and engage with sexually that night. The only issue was I couldn't do it. When the man I had shown interest in came over to engage with me, it was fine. After a few minutes of mutually flirtatious and sexually suggestive conversation he tried to kiss me and I recoiled.

I had been shocked and dismayed – I believe even more than the man himself. After a few more attempts at what is known as "hooking up" I realized I no longer could do it. At least not sober. So, that night after my session with Sweets, I went looking for a place that wasn't near anything I was connected with. If I was going to get drunk, I didn't want anyone I knew becoming cognizant of my behavior.

Once inside O'Malley's, I sat down at the bar and started to order a tequila shot, but the memory was jarring. I ordered a Kamikaze instead. It was a drink I'd never ordered with Booth, and it was potent. Potent was what I was after. I needed to be highly inebriated in order to accomplish my goal - which was to engage in sexual intercourse. I needed to render the idea of it back into its proper place: a fun, lighthearted activity that felt amazing. After the first one I felt relaxed, after the second I actually was enjoying the music. A woman with short dark hair offered to buy me a drink. I informed her that I had plenty of money to get me through the evening, but thanked her for the offer. I ordered my third drink, downed it, had a fourth, and then felt absolutely prepared to go find a man and have sex.

When I stood up from the bar, everything seemed to swim for a moment. I felt a hand on my arm. "Take it easy, girl. You might want to just sit for a minute." I looked up at a set of pale blue eyes and thick straight hair. Ryan, only I didn't know that yet.

The details get a bit fuzzy after that. I remember dancing with him to something called "Dancing Queen", followed by a song whose lyric I found extremely appropriate, "It's not just intellectual. The way I feel is sexual…" I remember asking him if he'd like to go have sex. There was a cab ride, his apartment…I think we kissed. I do recall him taking off my shirt, but that's it.

The next morning I woke up naked in his bed. I had a very bad hangover; pounding headache, spinning room, nausea, the works. Ryan brought me a strange concoction, that he called his hangover cure. I told him I thought I was going to vomit, and he produced a bucket from his side of the bed for me to do so in. Afterward, he made me drink the concoction. It tasted awful, and he wouldn't tell me what was in it. Subsequently though, the room did stop spinning, the headache became less pounding, and I felt far less nauseous. I was too embarrassed to ask if we'd had intercourse. I assume we must have; why else would I have been naked in his bed?

"Dr. B?"

I blink back into the present. Ryan has pulled up outside the museum's fountain entrance and is watching me. He seems agitated, but he usually appears to be. He reminds me a little of Ms Wick that way, but also of Sweets, whom it seems is always eager to be helpful – wanted or not. I wonder what the sex with him was like. We haven't repeated that action, although I have met him for drinks several times since. He is an amusing companion, with many stories about criminal mishaps, as well as those of his own and his colleagues. He also likes opera, and last week surprised me with tickets to see Carmen at the Ford Center. I like him…although his calling me Dr. B. reminds me that I am eight years older than him.

"Sorry Ryan, I see that we're here."

"So, that was Booth."

"Excuse me?"

"The guy you when out and got plastered over, and thus facilitated our introduction."

"Why would you think – "

" - You cried about him in the cab ride back to my place… Kept saying you were sorry."

"I was crying?"

"Yeah."

"I don't remember…I don't even remember having sex with you."

At that, Ryan laughs. I am puzzled. "Ryan?"

"Honey, we didn't have sex. When we got to my place you threw up all over yourself, so I got you out of your clothes and threw them in the wash. You were passed out on the bed when I came back in."

"Oh…"

He laughs some more and then leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "You are so adorable."

"I don't know what that means. Why are you so nice to me if you don't want to be sexual?"

"I…I really like you, Dr. B. I guess I thought, hoped…"

He looks very uncomfortable, and I'm not clear why. "It's ok Ryan, if you're not attracted to me…it's –"

"I am, Dr. B. Just not as much as I'm attracted to…to guys."

I think my eyes must have widened, "Oh. You prefer the male of the species for sexual gratification?"

"Umm, yeah. I mean, I like women too, I like kissing and making out, and sex can be fun, but…"

I am now feeling extremely puzzled. "Why did you take me home with you?"

"Well, you're very pretty, and clearly had no idea what you'd walked into."

"What I'd walked into?"

"O'Malley's is a gay bar, Dr. B."

"Oh." Now certain things are making sense.

"I came in that night pretty much deciding I needed to just accept that I was gay and stop fighting the whole thing. Only I walked in and there you were, this pretty lady who was just completely sad and lost. I thought maybe it was a sign from God."

"I don't believe in God."

He laughs at that. Booth would have frowned and said something about me going to hell.

"Yeah I figured you wouldn't. Look, I enjoyed the kisses at O'Malley's. You're an excellent kisser –"

"I know."

" - but I had no problem waking up with you naked next to me in bed. If you'd been a guy I would have been –"

"Sexually stimulated to the point of erection."

"Exactly."

"So, why have you been continuing to go out with me?"

I'm surprised to see his face turning red, and his eyes shift to the floor.

"I like you, and I wanted to be sure, and…I wanted the guys at work to see me out with a woman."

It takes me a moment to comprehend. When I do, I am aware of the feeling that Booth has identified for me as being compassion. I know what it's like to be different and not liked for it, to be teased and ostracized by your peers. "You're afraid of what the alpha males whom prefer women would try to do to you if they knew your preference."

He pauses for a moment, and I watch him processing my words. "Yeah, the guys, they wouldn't see me as part of the team anymore. I'm a good cop Dr. B, but if your partner doesn't trust you, it all falls apart."

A sudden flood of tears well up in my eyes. Ryan's words so perfectly sums up what the problem is for me with Booth, and I wasn't expecting that. We'd been talking about him.

"Don't worry, Ryan. You can tell them we've had lots of sex and I've thoroughly enjoyed it."

He grins. "I wasn't thinking about anything so specific."

"But that is what alpha males do – exchange stories of sexual conquest in order to show their superiority and establish dominance. You'll need to claim some kind of sexual achievement in order to appear to be a heterosexual alpha male. You can tell them we have become 'friends with benefits.' " I am proud to have remembered the term from Angela. "You are helping me get over my…" What do I call Booth? He isn't my lover, or boyfriend…

"Your partner. I'm helping you get over your partner."

"Yes."

"He's a fool to let you go"

"No…I let him go, Ryan. I was too scared, and by the time I wasn't he –"

"Dr. B. – if I met the love of my life, I'd come out to the force and anyone who would listen. And if guy was afraid to come out, I'd wait. I'd be doing my damn best to convince them to come out, but I sure as hell wouldn't just give up. He's an idiot. You deserve better."

His words bring more tears up, and I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Ryan."

"You're welcome. Now, get into that lab and figure out who that messed up dead guy was."

I smile back at him, "I will."

I get out of the car, turn to wave, and see Booth's SUV parked across the street. Booth doesn't park in the street. I stare at it a moment. How long has he been parked there? Why would he be watching me? Talking with Ryan had temporarily blocked out the scene at the baseball field. I'd stomped off and left him there with his stupid girlfriend. I feel myself getting angry all over again. I didn't care so much that they were having sex and falling in love. However, having her show up at our crime scene and think she should get closer to the body because of whatever social contract they have arranged infuriates me. I don't want to hear any of his excuses for her. I turn away and walk briskly towards the Jeffersonian.


	3. Collision

I have no right to feel the way I feel, but I'm feeling it. I want to rip Ryan Murphy into pieces. They didn't get out of the car right away, and she'd leaned over to kiss him goodbye. Thank God, I didn't see the actual kiss. Then I remember all the times I'd let Hannah kiss me in front of Bones and I cringe. Worse thing is she hasn't mentioned this Murphy guy. Hasn't mentioned a date, or that she was going out with anyone. She could have thrown it right back at me, but she hasn't. Maybe she just started seeing him? I need to go find out what the story is with this guy. As I'm contemplating just how to go about this recon, my phone rings. It's Mike, my GA sponsor.

Mike's a good guy – a former Navy Seal – forced into retirement when he had his knees broken by a couple of guys over some serious gambling debts. Works as a bouncer at a high end club now – abstinent for seventeen years.

"Hey kiddo, how you doing?"

Amazing the timing of these things. "Not so great Mike, not great. Broke up with Hannah a little while ago."

There's silence on the other line.

"Mike?"

"Why'd you break up with her?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. Was this an impulsive decision or something you've thought about?"

"You're kidding, right? You're the one who pointed out how crappy I've been to Bones!"

"That why you broke up with her? Punishing yourself?"

"No, I'm not punishing myself! She tried to sweet-talk her way in to an exclusive on a case me and Bones are working! She pissed me off!"

"So you dumped her."

"I don't LOVE her, Mike, I love Bones."

More silence. "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place?"

"What?"

"That you finally admitted to yourself that you love Bones? Being in love with someone else is a damn good reason to end a current relationship. Being you've been trying to figure out what exactly you feel about the doc, I'd say this wasn't an impulsive move."

"Great, thanks. Now why are you calling me?"

"Just confirming we're meeting up after the 2 o'clock."

The two o'clock. Shit. I'd said I'd meet him at the 2pm GA meeting at Georgetown and then work on my first step with him afterwards. 'Admitted we were powerless gambling and our lives had become unmanageable.' Shit. "Of course, I'm going to be there, Mike. Not about to let a little breakup ruin my whole day."

"Good. I'll see you there then."

"Yep."

I hang up the phone, it's 1 now. If I high-tail it down there, I can grab a sandwich before the meeting. Mr. Murphy's gonna have to wait.

It is too damn hot in this church basement. I loosen my tie and wish I could slip my jacket off. However, in a room full of gamblers revealing my weapon was probably not a good idea.

Of course, I am one of those gamblers.

It's amazing how easy it is to separate myself from them…as if eight years ago I hadn't thought I'd never be allowed to see my son again because I'd lost the promised child support payment in a game of pool… I think about the question Mike told me to write about: My personal history of gambling & women. Last week I'd gone into this room after winning a bet with Hannah over being to last 10 minutes while she gave me a blow-job – loser paid for dinner. At the time, it seemed like fun, but I felt restless the rest of night, edgy. She'd wanted to fuck later but I begged off. Told her that I had a case I couldn't get off my mind and needed to head to the office for a bit. She was fine with it. Work stuff she always understood. I didn't go to work though. I drove around for a bit. Ended up at Bones' place. Her lights were out. Either she was asleep, or she was still at work. I missed her. There was a time I wouldn't be guessing where she was. I would know . I remember tearing up and feeling shaky. I wanted her so desperately for a moment: to see her, hold her…tell her I was sorry. I drove away fast. I didn't want to feel those things. I toyed with seeing if she was at work, but we weren't on a case. I really had no excuse to go see her, and if she wasn't there I didn't want to know. Instead, I drove down to a local pool hall. I walked in thinking I'd just play a couple of games. I paid for an hour of play. I picked up the cue stick and my hands started shaking. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Hey, old man, you gonna play or not."

The kid was like 20 – not even old enough to drink. Black tee-shirt, stringy blond hair. I looked at him like Jesus himself had appeared. Old man. Yeah, old man as in a Dad, a father, with a 10 year-old son.

I hand him my table number "Go ahead kid, knock yourself out. I gotta be somewhere."

The kid actually grinned, "Hey, thanks!"

I walked out of there, picked up the phone, and called Mike. Got my ass to a meeting the next day.

"…A desire to have all the good things in life without any great effort on their part seems to be the common character pattern of problem gamblers*…"

The phrase from the reading jumps out at me the same way it did last week. That night last spring starts playing in my head. "I'm the gambler" is what I'd said. I should have realized the truth in the words and stopped right there, but I was too on a roll, going for the prize, the dream…

"…Any betting or wagering, for self or others, whether for money or not, no matter how slight or insignificant, where the outcome is uncertain or depends upon chance or skill constitutes gambling.* "

Betting on Brennan, hardly insignificant, and the outcome – I knew it was uncertain. But I'd been all juiced up…

"Hi, my name is..."

I drag my attention back into the meeting. 10 minutes down, 50 more to go. Where is Mike?

"…In elementary school I started betting kids in marbles for lunch money. Mainly because mom was too drunk to remember to give me any. If I lost, I'd do their homework for than night. Sometimes I had 4 or five workbooks besides mine to take home, but another day I'd win enough money to have lunch for a week, so I figured it averaged out. Most of the time they never realized…."

Elementary school? Jesus, talk about young! I think back to my own elementary school years. I was gauging how drunk Dad had been the night before to figure out if he'd be home or not after school. Wondering how to hide Jared's ripped jeans, or my bad grade in spelling, hoping maybe he'd be passed out so we could sneak inside. Wondering if mom would be there with cookies and milk or in bed with welts and bruises, a cast on her arm, an icepack on her head…

I remember Dad slamming me again the wall, punching me in the gut for Jared's lost book-bag – the one I said I'd lost, because I was bigger and if he hit Jared it might kill him. By then mom was already dead, and I'd promised her to protect Jared, promised as I sobbed against her chest, while blood oozed out of her mouth.

"…By the time I was in high school I was already working for a bookie, running around after school picking up cash, making drops, skipping class if I needed to. I wanted to learn 'the business' figuring by – "

High school was cool once Dad was gone. Left us one day and never came back. Best thing that ever happened. It took me a long time to believe he wasn't coming back. To not be fearful that I'd be walking home with Jared, turn a corner, and there he'd be. He'd snatch us both, kill us the way he did mom, and leave our bodies in a garbage dump. I worried he'd come try and kill Pops, too. He was crazy like that, so I worked out, learned to box. Joined ROTC as soon as I could. Played some sports. Hockey mostly, but I did a few years of basketball – football, too. Girls loved jocks, and I loved girls. Luckily, girls loved me, too. I was always polite, gentle, kind. Plus I made them laugh, and had a great body. Never tried forcing anything or getting them drunk. Never talked trash about them, never cheated. Granted, maybe we went out for a few months, and then it would end - but I never cheated. They'd watch me in class, slip me notes. I treated girls right when I took them out, which got to be expensive…Pops would give me cash, and I worked part-time, but there were A LOT of girls. Betting on a football game, a game of pool, just to pick up a few extra bucks…I supposed that's where it started.

The sound of applause takes me out of my head and back into the room. I look around and see Mike must have slipped in - he's standing in the back. The room has gotten crowded since I last paid attention.

{* taken from the book Gamblers Anonymous ("combo book").}

What I love about my work – well, actually one of the many things I love about it – is how it is all-consuming. Once the body arrived at the Jeffersonian, my mind was able to focus on it and not Booth. Only hours later, while waiting for a lab report to come back, did I notice: Booth hasn't been around all afternoon. I'm relieved. I don't feel like having a conversation about what happened at the site, or whatever he saw, or thinks he saw, between Ryan and me. As I remember my own case of jumping to conclusions, I have to question my disbelief in Karma. Perhaps there is some kind of bio-chemical charge that the body emanates in emotional circumstance that attracts atoms with the same electron pattern to be slowly drawn to a person…

I also just don't want to experience all the emotions that come up when he's near me. Instead, I think about Chi, and the recent developments occurring in quantum physics. While not my field, I have found the study of it interesting as of late. This newest idea of entwined atoms is intriguing and the ramifications are interesting. It implies that when atoms move at the same speed, at the same time, on the same frequency that the atoms then form a connection, a bond. That bond is always there, no matter how far away to two atoms become. Furthermore, the atoms affect each other. What happens to one causes an instant response in the other. The phenomena is not easy to create, and, thus far, has only done with single atoms. Still, I can't help but contemplate that it may be science's answer to the experience of love. Somehow, two people become tuned to the same frequency, the energy of their atoms somehow sync, and therefore, create a connection, a link to that person. I wonder if that's why I'm drawn to Booth, because when we are close every hormone in my body starts firing, so that a simple touch is like a shock of physical pleasure, and now, emotional pain... I try to not have him touch me.

"Brennan!"

I snap out of my thoughts, and look up from my desk.

"Oh, hello Angela. Have you finished the facial reconstruction?"

"Yeah, I finished it. I've been standing here with it for, like five minutes."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I did. Several times, actually. Where were you?"

"Sitting right here, Angela."

"Physically, yes, but your mind was clearly somewhere else. It's Booth, isn't it."

Sometimes, it's difficult having friends. Angela has a way of knowing what I'm thinking about without me saying a word. At one point, so did Booth….

"Sweetie…"

I feel her arm around my shoulder. I didn't even see her move. My first instinct is to push her away, but I don't. I've been working on this, letting people in, allowing physical contact as comfort from people other than Booth. It's been surprising to me how uncomfortable I am with it – and sad. It also tells me how much I had let Booth into my…heart, metaphorically speaking. How much I trusted him.

I feel her hand stroke my hair. I have leaned my head against her side – again, unknowingly. I have a vague memory of my mother doing something similar. The sense of being cared about, loved, is the same.

"Hannah tried to get a news interview while we were inspecting the body. It just…made me angry. She was trying to use her relationship with Booth to get an interview before we'd had any time to even do anything."

"Not cool."

"What does temperature –"

"- Not good, not nice, not ok."

"Oh. Then yes, not cool." I pull away from her then to look up at her. "Why would she put him in that position? I understand her work…and it's important, but…"

"Not more than Booth."

"No."

"Sweetie…Booth's got to figure out for himself what's ok and what isn't in a relationship – the same way you had figure out what love actually was."

"I thought he knew about relationships? I thought he –"

"Please, Booth is just about as clueless as – as clueless as you used to be about love."

I don't want to talk about this anymore, but I don't know how to get out of the conversation. So I'm silent. Then, I remember something… "Angela, this feels very awkward."

Angela gives me a big smile, the kind that makes her eyes sparkle. Over the years I have learned that particular smile means I have done something not incorrect, but amusing none-the-less. "Okay, sweetie. We don't have to talk about it anymore. Take a look at this reconstruction."

I glance at it. It's the face I'd seen on the skull. "Yes, that's him. Any hits from the data base?"

"No. I just wanted you to look at it before I sent it over to Booth to see if –"

"You can just hand it to me."

Ange and I both turn and see Booth standing by the door. I don't know how long he's been there or how much he's heard.

"Talk about awkward."

Angela's quiet muttering is quite appropriate. I can't not look at him. I feel many different emotions swirling through my mind, too fast for me to identify. He turns his eyes to Angela. I watch him walk in and take the drawing from her hands and give her a small smile.

"You're right about me being clueless."

I feel myself start to shake. Booth hates gossip. I have apparently given him yet another reason to be angry with me. Then his eyes meet mine again and…whatever this expression is I'm seeing, it isn't anger.

"I need to talk to Bones, Angela."

I'd forgotten she is still in the room, even though she is standing right next to me.

"Don't be a jerk with her, Seeley. Just because I'm pregnant don't think I won't come after you."

"Angela!"

"It's ok, Bones. I deserve that."

I feel Ange squeeze my shoulder. "I will call you later, ok?"

I nod, because speech is not something I feel capable of. I watch Angela leave. Booth moves and he's suddenly standing almost exactly where Ange had been. His hand brushes my shoulder and that shock of pleasure/pain ricochets through my body. I stiffen instinctively.

"Do you really hate me that much?"

"What?"

"You flinch whenever I touch you."

I don't know what to say. I don't want him to know the truth. After a moment I realize I can answer his question without lying.

"No. I don't hate you at all."

I don't think she's lying. I have a moment of panic; was that a gamble? No, because there is no outcome in this. Belief is not gambling. I believe her.

She is hiding something, though. I try to catch her eyes, but as soon as she'd spoken her eyes had focused on her desk. I'd thought I had all the words I wanted to say worked out with Mike. I can't remember any of them! Dear Angel Gabriel, messenger of God, help me find the right words!

"I'm sorry, Bones."

She's startled by this and immediately looks up at me. "I don't understand. Why…"

"I've been mean to you."

"No. You haven't been –"

"Yes, I have."

"You've just been busy, Booth, understandable -"

"Don't. We both know I've been a jerk and that you've been avoiding me because of it. Most of our relationship we haven't lied to each other. I'd like us to go back to that."

Those wide blue eyes are staring at me and tearing up at the same time. Shit, I didn't mean to be so gruff, certainly didn't want to make her cry again.

"I hurt you, Booth. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't process fast –"

" - I know, baby. I know."

Good God, where did THAT come from? I'd better talk faster.

"I know you need time for stuff to sink in. If I'd been listening instead of gambling that night none of this would have happened."

Baby? He's only called me that once and at the time I'd been bleeding in his arms. I remember the roughness is his voice, his lips in my hair, and tucking myself closer against his chest. I remember I was scared…and so was he. Why is he afraid now?

He is saying something about gambling that night.

"I don't understand what that means, Booth."

I can't help it. A grin flashes across my face. It's the most normal response I've had from her in weeks. Maybe she missed the 'baby.'

"I wasn't really listening to you. I had my mind on will she/won't she, instead just listening. I used you, Bones. Like a flip of a coin or a roll of the dice. I wanted a yes or no to make it easy. That's my thing, you know. I make a bet, take a chance. That way, it's never about me, what I choose, what I want, what I lose. It's just…fate."

"Booth –"

"You're the highest stake I ever lost. Priceless. And I'm sorry I did that. Pushed you like that. Then blamed you –"

" Booth! Stop it! Just, Stop. You moved on, it's okay. I had –"

" I tried to move on, but I couldn't. I was angry and hurt –"

" Then, I should be apologizing."

" - because you didn't just say yes? You NEVER just say yes, Bones. I knew you needed time, but instead I pouted like a little boy, picked up my marbles and went home."

"What else could you have done, Booth? I was…irrational, acting out of emotion rather than reason –"

"Exactly, Bones! That alone, had I been listening instead of just going for the win, should have told me I meant something more to you than just a work partner."

"You do."

Her voice drops to almost a whisper when she says that. I catch her gaze and pray she'll stay with me.

"You mean everything, Booth. You…you deserve to know that. Hannah is very lucky -"

She's been fidgeting with her hands while speaking. I reach down and take one into mine. "She's not in my life anymore, Bones. I can't pretend anymore."

"Pretend…?"

I can't breathe. Booth is holding my hand and staring down at me. His eyes irrationally make me think of dark hot chocolate. Hannah is gone. I can't comprehend what is happening or why. I don't know why he isn't sad, or why he's holding my hand. I can't look away.

"I can't pretend it's ever going to be anyone but you, Bones. I love you."


	4. Collision  Impact

Daydreaming of impossible things is not a pastime I can participate in. I am too logical, and too intelligent for such behavior to be effective. Hence, I am not prepared for Booth's statement of love…for me. Do I love him? Yes, I have understood that now for quite some time. I have loved him for years, unknowingly. At times I have wished I still did not know. There is no changing the past however. In that truth lies the reality of having watched Booth be in love with Hannah. Of him agreeing I could not be what he wanted and of him…hurting me. I hadn't thought his behavior deliberate, just a by-product of my slow understanding of emotions and him finding a love that made him happy.

His words are starting to make sense. He knew that I needed time, but chose not to give it. He moved on – yet wanted me to know…just how much better off he was without me. Gambling…with me…

I was not supposed to say that to her. Mike told me not to turn an apology into pressure. Now she is crying, slow tears sliding down her cheeks. I can't tell why. Is she sad or angry? Maybe she's overwhelmed? I kneel down beside her and place my other hand over ours. "Temperance."

At least she doesn't pull away. She can't look at me though. I want to wipe away her tears, but that might be too much.

"I never thought you wanted to hurt me…I just thought you were in love. With Hannah."

She looks up now, and I can see the confusion swirling in her eyes.

"I thought you loved her, and it hurt because I, I had finally figured out that I was in love with you, and that all my disbelief about love was from something that happened a long time ago."

Did she just say she was in love with me?

"That is why I was avoiding you, Booth. I didn't think you were trying to be mean. I never thought that you would be mean…. I just thought it was a good thing I hadn't said yes, because you were wrong about me being the one…and it hurt."

"You're in love with me?"

She looks away from me then, and I remember I'm not supposed to force it. Doesn't matter - I know what I heard.

Booth looks almost happy. I have a number of different thoughts trying to become cohesive: Booth broke up with Hannah because he says he loves me. Booth deliberately tried to hurt me emotionally. Booth seemed to be completely in love with Hannah. Booth has been gambling again. Booth knew I needed time…and the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.

"Yes, Booth, I am, but I am finding it difficult to believe that you are in love with me."

Temperance Brennan…I am floored. She has just stripped herself bare for me, heart exposed, fears revealed, defenseless. I could break her right now. Dear God, don't let me break her. Please, God.

"So much for not having an open heart." I try cracking a smile. It's hard, because what I want to do is take her in my arms and kiss her senseless, promise I will never, ever give her a reason to doubt me again and then worship every inch of her body until she's sobbing with pleasure. I want to be inside her, feel her come…that's the different between sex and making love. Sex is wanting a hot body. Wanting to make love…it's when someone loves you so much they share their soul, and their soul is so beautiful you want to be a part of them, and they a part of you… You become one.

She is watching me with that serious gaze of hers. Now is not the time to be discussing what I'm feeling, the depth of it. Right now she doesn't believe I'm in love with her. I don't blame her.

"I don't expect you to believe me, Temperance. I wouldn't believe me either."

I'm rewarded with a small smile. I remember I'm not supposed to push, but it's really hard not to. I just want her to be mine. I want her… Damn-it, this is the line of thinking that got me off course a moment ago! I need to be honest here, as honest as she's been with me.

"I know it looked like I loved her, but I didn't. Worse, I acted like a jerk. Bones, I'm so afraid I've shattered the trust between us, and you'll never -"

"- I trust you, Booth. I'm just not sure that you are thinking clearly right now. Therefore, I can't trust that you really know what it is you want."

"Bones, I know –"

"- I'm sure you think you do, but you just ended a relationship that you were very happy in. How can you know this one would be any better?"

"I was only with her because –"

"- You were trying to hurt me?"

Yeah, it stings…but it's fair. Not true, but fair.

"No. I was trying to move on and get over you. It just didn't work."

I can't tear my eyes away from his. His voice is so quiet when he says that. Yet his eyes seem to flash for a moment, and then are still, unreadable. Not that I am good at such things, but I used to be able to somewhat read him… Now, he seems sad again. I don't want him to be sad, again.

"My thinking isn't particularly clear either, Booth. I think I should feel angry that you wanted to hurt me. Yet, what I feel is sad for...things I can't even explain to myself… I think I must have hurt you very badly for you to want to hurt me. It's not…like you. I didn't ever want to hurt you, yet I - "

I am getting scared. She is tearing up again, and I don't like where this is going.

"Bones –"

"Booth, it doesn't matter that you were gambling! You weren't sure of me. And I was equally unclear if I was even capable of being in a romantic relationship without the man coming to hate me…it seems –"

"Don't! Don't go there. I was angry and hurt, and I was acting out like a kid, but I never, ever, hated you, Bones. I wanted to show you I could live without you, that other women wanted me –"

"I knew that."

"Look, I was stupid, Bones."

That catches her attention.

"Relationships and understanding are not an area in which you are stupid, Booth. Anything good I know about understanding and connecting to people I've learned from you. You've made me less stupid in that. Now, in the area of forensic anthropology, yes, you are stupid – but you don't need to be intelligent in that area. Most people don't require that kind of complicated thinking in normal day-to-day activities."

Booth is grinning. I don't know what I've said that amuses him so much. Then he reaches out and wipes some of the tears off my cheek.

"I'm in love with you, Temperance. Will you give me time to prove it?"

I want him to kiss me. I don't know if he loves me or not, if he is rebounding from whatever happened between him and Hannah, or if this all some kind of joke they will laugh about later. I don't care if the aftermath could hurt badly. I want him to kiss me.

So I nod my head. His grip on my hand tightens as a slow smile crosses his face. Booth's eyes are burning through me. I know this is physically impossible, but I will think about it later. The fire set by his eyes is now filling the air around us with heat, electricity. I feel his fingers against my cheek, pushing back my hair… When his lips touch mine, the heat explodes in my body, and I open to him immediately. His tongue remembers mine – we've only kissed twice…or three… I stop thinking and sensations take over: the texture of his shirt under my hands as my arms encircle him, his hands in my hair. I find the smooth spot under his tongue, and I love the feel of his caressing mine, the rough tip exploring the back of my throat… breathing each other in…

"Dr. Brennan, the results have come – oh my…"

I hate Cam, but only for a few moments. In truth, if Bones and I kept kissing, it wasn't going to be just kissing. I don't want the first time we make love to be on her office floor – other times, maybe - but for the first time I want hours, which in her office isn't possible.

"I am SO sorry, guys, I –"

"It's okay Cam." I shift slightly so Temperance can hide against my neck. I know she doesn't want to face Cam right now. "We'll be up at the lab in a few."

"Alrighty, I will be going back to the lab now. I will, um, see you in a few minutes."

So much for not pushing, Seeley boy. I stroke Temperance's hair, loving the feel of it in my hands, her face against my neck. Mike had said to take it slow. He doesn't know what it's like, the kind of chemistry we have. Still, I don't want to lose her. Taking it slow. I tore a ligament my freshman year of college. Tried to go back on the playing roster too soon. Ended up on crutches the entire season and then some. Moving too fast, too soon, I snapped the thing completely. I will love Bones for the rest of my life, taking the time to heal this hurt is nothing when I think about it like that.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

She pulls away from me. I brush a strand of that dark silky hair back behind her ear.

"We should go see what the results are on the skin sample."

"We will, but…you meant it right? Giving me time to prove –"

"That you love me?"

"Yeah, that I love you."

I still am not completely present to the world. Booth is asking for time to prove he loves me. I don't know what that means. I don't think it's something one can prove. Then again, there are many things the world has thought impossible to prove, only to have it be done.

"I've missed being friends, Booth…being able to just talk about things. Every time I've kissed you my sense of reason disappears for a bit"

"Me too. I mean, I've missed you, too. Hannah…was never a friend."

Why did I say that? But, wow, she's smiling a bit.

"Maybe we could meet up for drinks later?"

He smiles one of his all out happy smiles. I have made him happy. It feels good and I can tell that I'm smiling back.

"Bones, I would love to meet you later for drinks."

"Good. Now I should go see what Cam found, and you can go run Angela's sketch through your FBI databases."

"Sounds like a plan, Bones."

"It is a plan, Booth."

He laughs, stands up and pulls me up off my chair. "You're right, Bones. It is a plan."

His eyes are warming me. Not burning like before. Just…warming, like a cup of cocoa on a snowy day. It feels nice, and I realized I've missed this feeling the most. It is one I'd lived with for years – and taken for granted. Being with Booth, in a car, on a case, even arguing, I have felt the warmth. He doesn't let go of my hand as we walk out of my office. I know I should say something, but I don't.


	5. Pieces and Shards

Cam is on the platform when I walk in with Booth. She is looking through a microscope and doesn't see us. Booth lets go of my hand, smiles, and says "see you later" in a voice so soft I almost don't hear him. The effect of it is sexual; a quick flash of heat zips through me and then cools back to warmth. I smile back and watch him as he leaves.

"Dr. Brennan."

Cam's voice is odd. I can't quite decide what is different about it. When I turn toward the platform she is looking at me with a closed-lipped smile. Perhaps she is amused? I wonder what could be amusing about dead flesh, but have learned it is better not to ask these questions. Then it occurs to me what could be amusing her. I think it might be best to not give her a moment to speak. I slide my identification card through the platform reader and walk over to her.

"Dr. Saroyan. You found something on the flesh?"

"Yes. I think I may have identified your weapon."

"Oh. What did you find?"

"While the flesh on the face and skull were completely burned away, there were considerable charred remains on the lower torso. I was able to use hyperspectral imagining and discovered that there were areas of subcutaneous and muscle tissue untouched by the burning."

"And?"

"Within those tissue samples were signs of several severe petechia hematoma: large amounts of endothelin in the blood samples, damage to the lungs, liver, and spleen –"

"The victim was severely beaten before being burned."

"Yes. Judging by the length and shape of the bruise imprints within the subcutaneous tissue, I would say by some sort of baseball bat."

"Not just any bat!"

Dr. Saroyan and I both turn to the sound of Dr. Hodkins voice. Angela's husband. I'm surprised at the association I've just made. Not because it isn't so, but because I am working. Right now he should simply be Dr. Hodkins.

"Well, don't all guess at once."

Hodkins is correct. I need to have my thoughts on the issue at hand.

"Why don't you just tell us, Dr. Hodkins."

Dr. Saroyan is giving Jack one of those looks as she speaks. It's the "I am the one in charge" look." I don't mind it when it's not focused on me. Ja- Dr. Hodkins looks serious now. Like a scientist.

"I was able to find traces of Nickel, Chromium, carbon, Copper, Molybdenum, Manganese, Silicon, Columbium, and iron on some of the victim's unburned clothing."

Jack has a big grin again. "Now do you get it?"

"Yes, it's some kind of metal alloy. How does that help us?" Sometimes I can get as annoyed with Hodgins as Dr. Saroyan.

"This particular mix of metals and chemicals make up what is called "alloy 20." It's used in a number of different appliances, pipes, etc"

"While that is an interesting find Dr. Hodgins, I fail to see how -"

"When Dr. Saroyan said the weapon was some kind of bat, I ran the alloy through the data base for bats using that particular alloy. Turns out there's only one - the Cb9X Exogrid. It retails for about for about 700 dollars."

Cam smiles, "So, it's not a bat that the average Sunday afternoon player would be using."

"Absolutely not." Hodgins is grinning. "So, am I king of –"

"Not so fast, love of my life!"

We all turn to see Angela coming out of her office.

"I've ID'd the victim." She's holding a print out that I assume is the victim's picture.

"Gerald Johnson - he's a pitcher for the Bowie Baysox."

Cam takes the photo and the sketch she glances at them and hands them to me. The face smiling out at me fits the 1/1.618 beauty ratio, but I knew that from the bones. There are things that can't be quantified in a number. It is something I am coming to understand more and more…no doubt because of Booth. The young man's beauty is palpable – even in a photo: Clear green eyes, wavy dark hair, and a wide smile. I would say his photo projects happiness.

"How'd you find it? Angela?"

Cam's question takes me out of my musing. "Yes, Angela, you said there was nothing in the data base."

"In the missing person's data base. I had a brainstorm, the guy was so good-looking, and Brennan said he was some kind of athlete. So I compiled a data base of all the local newspapers and magazine articles with photos that were about high school and college athletics within a 100 miles radius. Then I just scanned the sketch in and had the facial recognition program see if it could find a match."

"Brilliant Angela!" Cam grins, "Guess your wife is QUEEN of lab today Dr. Hodgins."

Angela sticks her tongue out at Jack, and he laughs. Love is strange.

"I'd better call Booth."

Cam glances at me, eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

"He was going to try running the sketch through the witness protection program. Now he doesn't have to."

"What was that look to Brennan, Cam?"

Cam has that same closed-lipped smile that she had when she first saw me from the platform. Now Angela is looking at the both of us. I can feel my face getting hot.

"I left my cell phone in my office. I should go call Booth."

I turn and walk off the platform before Angela can ask anything else.

The sun is still up and shining. It's after 5, and I have no idea what time work will be ending. But when it ends, I'll be grabbing a drink with Bones, if I'm lucky she'll – 'No, Seeley.' Lucky isn't an idea I want to play with right now. I will simply ask her if she'd like to have dinner, not just drinks. Especially since this looks like it could be a late night. Just then my phone rings. The thing that's annoying about Bluetooth is I can't see who's calling when I drive.

"This is Booth."

"It's Brennan."

I can't help but grin. "Bones! Miss me already? "

"No. Angela identified the victim, so you don't need to run it through witness protection."

Right. Working. We are working now. Not flirting. "Who've we got?"

"Gerald Johnson, 22. He was a baseball pitcher for the Bowie Baysox."

"The Baysox! They're a double A team! He must have been pretty good."

"He was. Angela pulled up some news articles on him. He was a very good player. Apparently, many felt he was going to be receiving a call telling him he would be playing on the major league team, the Orioles."

"You mean they were thinking he'd be called up."

"Yes, I just said that."

God, I love her. Her little common-phrase mix-ups are endearing, although I've never let on just how cute and funny I find them. And actually, her meaning isn't completely wrong. I'm pretty sure a phone call is involved.

"Yeah, okay. So, when I get back to the office I'll get some inquires going on his friends and associates."

"Yes, that sounds appropriate. We still haven't determined cause of death."

I noticed the hesitation before she answered. Something's up.

"Don't worry, Bones. You'll find it. You always do."

"Yes, I know. It may take some significant time though. I'm not sure about drinks tonight."

I am smiling - and glad she can't see me. "Don't worry about it. How about once I'm done researching his associates, I give you a call. Maybe a late night dinner?"

"That might be best. You can bring whatever information you find."

"You got it."

"Booth.

"Yes."

"It often takes me some time to connect my feelings to events."

"I know that, Bones. What –"

"I think that when you said you weren't coming back to the Jeffersonian I was disappointed. This would lead me to conclude that despite the short amount of time since we…talked, I have been looking forward to you being in my immediate vicinity."

"You miss me."

"Yes. I think I do."

I'm choking up as she says it. Bones is processing feelings and sharing them. I sometimes forget how literal she is. I hadn't meant anything by my casual flirtation, yet she's taken it seriously. I think about that night, how she might have interpreted, 'I'd like to give it a shot,' and cringe.

"I miss you too, Bones. And I've missed you. I really have."

She isn't responding, "Bones?"

"I have to go. Angela just walked in."

"Okay, baby, I'll see you later tonight." I click the phone off before realizing what I said. I need to stop calling her baby before she actually notices it.

Booth just called me "baby" again. Apparently my brain has made a connection with his use of the word, "baby" – as a term of endearment – with him holding me after I'd been stabbed. When he says it, I immediately feel warm and safe. I feel his arms around me and know I'll be taken care of. I hope these thoughts don't show on my face.

"So…how is Seeley?"

"He seems fine. He is going to –"

"Cut the crap, Brennan. You haven't volunteered to call or talk to Booth in weeks! Cam is looking like the cat that ate the canary, and I will NOT be kept out of the loop!"

I have, over the last few weeks, noticed that hormonal increases during pregnancy do in fact cause extreme fluctuations in mood and temperament. Angela is near tears. I hate to see her upset. However, other than realizing she had noticed my change in behavior towards Booth, and my current change in deliberately speaking to him, I am not entirely sure what she is talking about.

"Brennan!"

"Ange, I am trying to figure out what a cat who eats a canary looks like, but all I can come up with is messy - and –"

Angela is laughing. At least she no longer near tears.

"Sweetie, you are amazing – which is why it is really difficult to stay mad at you. But, I will be mad if you don't tell me why you are now willing talking to Booth, and what Cam knows about you and Booth that I don't."

Well, that was pretty specific, and I'm not a good liar. Instead, I go with as little information as possible.

"Cam walked into my office and saw Booth and me kissing."

I have never seen Angela unable to speak before. It is interesting. Her mouth is open, but she's not saying anything. I don't say anything either. Finally, a small smile crosses her face.

"Well, that would explain why you're willing to talk to him."

I am still silent. If I speak, Ange will know everything. She has a way of getting me to say things that I'd rather not.

"However… Booth isn't the kind of guy that would cheat on a woman he was dating, and despite your ideas on marriage and commitment, you wouldn't let him do something that crossed his values – you love him too much, and know him to well for that. So, I'm thinking Booth must have broken up with Hannah."

How does she do that? I can see it is a kind of logic, but the information…Ange is staring at me, so I nod my head. Now she's getting that look on her face that she gets when she's concerned about me.

"You're still afraid."

Until Angela and Booth, I would have said intuition was a phenomenon that could be explained by science. Perhaps one day it will be, but for now, Angela's ability to know what I'm feeling is simply amazing.

"He thinks he's in love with me."

"Sweetie, he is."

"He just was in love with Hannah. I don't understand how it's possible for him, or anyone, to be able to switch those emotions off and just turn them on for someone else; if you can why does anyone trust love at all?"

Angela is biting her lip and I am tearing up, again. I know I may have raised my voice, and I'm sorry for that, but now the fear I'd been holding in won't stay hidden.

"I saw him with her, Ange. I saw him kiss her, and let her move in with him, and look really happy. Now he says it wasn't real. It looked real to me. I thought he was happy. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy…"

This crying thing today is annoying. I swipe at the tears rolling down my cheeks.

"You make him happy Bren…but I understand it's hard to…get. Especially so soon after. You are talking to him now though, right? Does that mean you'll at least give him a chance?"

I wipe more tears off my face. "We're having dinner tonight."

"Good! That's very good, Bren. Just take it slow. Let him show you how it's possible, okay?"

"Okay."

Angela gives me a big smile and hugs me. "It's going to be o.k. Brennan. Trust me."

I really want to believe her.

"Special Agent Booth! Your lady's got you on the 6'oclock news!"

Just great. I haven't even gotten into my office and I've junior agents to deal with.

"Good for her, but she's not my lady anymore, Agent Gentry. Any relevant information for me."

"Umm…"

"I didn't think so." I brush past the guy before he can say anything else, enter my office and shut the door.

What the hell could Hannah have put on television that didn't make her look like an ass? I know it isn't what Bones said. The memory of that moment still makes me smile. I wonder if she was actually being sarcastic? It's hard to tell sometimes. I think, judging by the way she stormed off afterward, that she was.

I'm chuckling to myself when a slightly whiny voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Something amusing, Agent Booth?"

Shit, it's Hacker. What the hell did she broadcast?

"Assistant Director Hacker. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"Good thing I wasn't an assassin."

I look blankly at him. If he's here to harass me the best thing to do is just let him talk.

"Have you seen the evening news?"

"No, sir, I have not."

"Well, let me enlighten you."

He walks over and hands me a CD.

"Play it."

I pop the CD into my computer. The local news logo comes up, and then, there is Hannah – making her introduction.

"Early this morning, a severely burned body was found on the pitcher's mound in Washington Park. We arrived on the scene to find the dynamic duo of crime-solving on the scene. Dr. Temperance Brennan and Special Agent Seeley Booth most recent high-profile case was the notorious "Gravedigger" - a ruthless extortionist and killer. It was Dr. Brennan's brilliant forensic work and testimony that ultimately put the Gravedigger behind bars. You can be sure if these two are on the case, this is no ordinary killing. We tried to get a word with them today. However, Dr. Brennan was already focused on getting the job done, and politely refused to comment."

I can't help it. I crack up. "Politely refused! Do you know what Bones –"

I have forgotten the magic of editing. All you see is Hannah waving and saying "Hi, guys." The next clip is Bones, eyes stormy as only hers can get, but with a sweet smile on her face. "…excuse me - I need to go and finish doing my job." Wow. I couldn't see her face from my angle when it happened; she was definitely being sarcastic. However, without the beginning of what she'd said, Bones seems curt, but professional.

"FBI Special Agent Booth was quick to follow his partner, as he pushed past our cameras. Apparently, in THIS dynamic duo, it's 'Batgirl' and Robin. Let's hope they can give this city some answers soon."

The screen goes blank.

"Dynamic duo! Batgirl and Robin! She makes it sound like the FBI has nothing to do with solving crimes!"

I am numb. I supposed the woman scorned saying is true. Aside from Hacker's concern about image, I realize Hannah has made it near impossible to do our jobs. Nothing like having a little publicity to slow down an investigation.

"…are you even listening? The director wants this case cleaned up, and fast! Do you even know who the dead guy is?"

"Yeah, the squints figured it out. His name is –"

"I don't want to hear about the squints! I want to know, what you, representing the FBI, are doing! The Director wants to hold a press conference tomorrow morning updating the case's progress, so there had better be something to update!"

With that, Hacker storms out of my office.

Great. A press conference. Tomorrow morning. No doubt Hannah will be there. I should have turned her in when I caught her. Instead…well, no use regretting the past. It is what it is. However, she did get one thing right. Bones and I are a dynamic duo. I have no doubt Bones and the squints will have figured out cause of death by tomorrow. What I need to do is find out who this kid was hanging out with that might want to kill him. I pop the kid's name into the computer, and a flood of pictures pop up on my screen. This may take a while.


	6. Pieces and Shards  continued

PIECES AND SHARDS

(continued)

On TV, crimes are solved in an hour. In reality, an hour isn't even enough time to get the paperwork through to get phone records of the victim. It's not all breaking down doors and running down criminals. It is enough time to get the basics: Gerald Johnson, age twenty-two, birthday, March 11, 1988. Parents: Melinda Johnson, 49 and Daniel Johnson, 61. Mother teaches elementary school. Dad's a Vietnam Vet, Army. High School gym teacher and baseball coach. One sibling: Danielle, 19, a sophomore at UCLA. There are a couple dozen articles on Gerald. Played on the US little league team in the World Series at 13. Was all-state for all four years in high school. Full baseball scholarship. Has been playing for the Baysox since last year… does a lot of charity games, the most recent being a charity game for the D.C. police department about four months back. An all-around, normal, nice kid.

The photo jumps out at me. The two baseball teams are standing holding a giant check, and big smiles. Standing next to Gerald Johnson is Ryan Murphy. I don't think twice about it. It's a perfect opportunity to go have a chat with Mr. Murphy.

As I walk into the prescient, I remind myself that I'm just here to ask Ryan Murphy if he has any information on Gerald Johnson, not what his relationship with my partner has been over the past few weeks, or to tell him that the relationship is now over. Bones can do that part. I have come through the civilian entrance, even though technically, I could have gone straight to central booking. There are several people sitting a sort of waiting area, and officers, perhaps coming in from patrol or heading off duty walk in and out of the bullet-proofed glass offices behind the police receptionist desk. A single officer stands silently on duty in the far right corner, his gun clearly visible. I hear a couple of the guys snicker as I walk towards her, but don't bother to see where they are coming from. Luckily, the receptionist is a female officer, dark, African-American, and apparently a no-nonsense kind of woman. I see her look sharply behind and to the left of me and the snickers cease.

"Hi, I'm special agent Seeley Booth, FBI." I give her my badge for inspection. She glances at it and hands it back.

"Officer Deborah Jones, 68th prescient, how can we help out the FBI today?"

Her smile is genuine, despite the murmur of "Robin needs help." that floats through the room.

"I need to speak to an officer Ryan Murphy. He may have some relevant information on a case we're working on."

"His desk is the third from the far left back corner. She turns slightly to indicate the general direction. "Just go on through Special Agent Booth,"

I hear a sudden buzz, and she smiles at me again. "I'll let him know you'll be coming back."

I don't know what I've done to earn her graciousness, but I nod and smile back at her.

"Thanks."

"My partner for the last six years was killed on the job last month."

My head swivels back to look at her. "I'm sorry, that must –"

"He was a very strong man. Partnered with me when no one else would…. I'm the best shot in this prescient, Special Ag –"

"- Just Booth."

"Booth. But Jimmy always knew where to aim the gun."

I blink back tears, immediately getting the metaphor and walk over to take her hand. "I am very, very, sorry for your loss, if I lost. –"

"That reporter had no business talking about what she could never understand. When it's life or death, there is no 'who's' more important. You just do what you do best and if one of you isn't there…"

I watch her bite her lip and suddenly remember the story. It was one in a series of liquor store hold-ups, a veteran and rookie. The rookie had made the wrong guy and the veteran, but wait, the rookie was a guy, a Brian –

"I'd been sick for days, Jimmy told me to go home, get some rest, if I'd known he was going to go out –"

"Not your fault. You know that."

"That's what they keep saying."

"It just takes time. I'm sure Jimmy wouldn't be blaming you."

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "No…he probably blamed himself."

"Equally wrong. Neither of you had the gun that killed him. You blame the perp, Jones."

I hold her gaze, willing her to take that idea in. After a moment she sighs.

"You're right, and when we get him I hope he fries."

"You guys will get him." Impulsively, I give her my card. "If you need anything, give me a call."

"Thanks." She takes my card, and I hear the door buzzer again. "I appreciate it."

I nod and head inside to main offices.

The noise is what hits me first: cops on the phones at their desk, sitting with victims, taking down reports, general chatter. The waiting room had been comparatively quiet.

I'm aware that some of these guys have noticed me. As I make my way back to the back left corner I catch a few smirks – pretty much from younger guys. Seems like there are a lot of rookies in this place.

"Hey Robin, where's batgirl?"

I don't even acknowledge this guy. I'm counting the desks back from the wall. The third one is empty, but as I get closer I see the nameplate "Officer Murphy" sitting on it.

"You lost, Robin?"

It's the same fucking guy. I can feel the tension in my body heighten. In another time and place I'd be getting ready to let the guy know just how out of line he was. However, things are tight enough as it is. I'm already thinking about the fact that I'll have to tell Bones I met with Murphy. So I continue to ignore the idiot and start to sit down next to Murphy's desk.

"You ever seen Batgirl naked, Robin? I hear she's –"

Bones. He's talking about Bones and I am standing up and turning to face this asshole before I can think.

"Shut up, Maxwell!"

I turn to my left and see Mr. Murphy walking towards me. He must have come in from Central Booking, which is on the opposite side from the waiting room – the office space is in-between. I catch a glance of the guy wanting to give me directions. Maxwell is older than I thought, probably about my age. He should fucking know better.

Maxwell just grins. "Look, just trying to help protect your turf, kid."

His turf! I can feel anger rising inside. Bones is not anyone's turf.

Murphy seems to agree with me, "What turf would that be, Officer Maxwell?"

I watch the kid stare Maxell down. Maxell's the one who breaks and looks away.

"Special agent Booth is here to discuss a murder investigation. I believe catching criminals is a "turf" we have in common."

He was looking at Maxwell, but speaking loud enough for those nearby to hear. My next thought is when did I start letting young cops fight my battles? I can't deal with that right now, and I have to admit, I am becoming a bit impressed with this kid. Bones taste in men seems to have gone up a notch…unless, of course, the guy is a murderer.

"Sorry about that Special Agent Booth."

"Don't worry about it."

"What can I help you with?"

The kid is all business, crisp, professional. He's also apparently seen Bones naked.

"We've identified the burn victim's body."

"Wow, you guys work fast."

"Yes, well, Dr. Brennan is the best in world at this."

"That helps."

The kid's dry humor makes me smile in spite of myself. I pull out a picture of Gerald John

The kid is all business, crisp, professional. He's also apparently seen Bones naked.

"We've identified the burn victim's body."

"Wow, you guys work fast."

"Yes, well, Dr. Brennan is the best in world at this."

"That helps."

The kid's dry humor makes me smile in spite of myself. I pull out a picture of Gerald Johnson and place it face down on his desk.

"This is our victim."

I'm watching him carefully. Is he going to deny knowing the young baseball player? Murphy picks up the photo and the color drains from his face, a sheen of moisture fills his eyes. His hands are shaking.

"I was wondering if you guys had any missing person reports on him. We're –"

"Gerry Johnson." Murphy's voice is a chocked whisper. "His name is Gerry Johnson."

He looks up from the photo, "Are you sure it's him."

Again, the whisper. Clearly, Murphy knows this guy.

"Yeah, we're sure. Did you know him?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Really nice guy." He brushes away a few tears. "He, he and the Baysox did a charity game with us a few months back for the Children's Outdoor Fund."

Okay, he isn't lying about it. Still, his reaction…"You seem pretty shaken."

Murphy is looking at the photo again.

"He was twenty-two years old. And great with those kids afterwards. Got a matching donation from the Baysox, plus a thousand of his own money. They were talking about him moving him to the big leagues. But, no pretensions by this guy. None."

He looks up at me then. "I haven't worked in law enforcement that long. Started at 22 – and I'm 28 now. I still get…shaken, you know? When really nice people get, get –"

"Brutally murdered." I stop myself from reaching for the kid's hand and just look him in the eye. "I can tell you, I've been doing this sort of thing a lot longer than you. If you get used to it, it's time to start looking for a new line of employment."

Murphy nods slowly. He's really upset by this news. A tough, sensitive type. Unless he's also been trained as an actor, I can't see him killing Gerald Johnson. I'm actually feeling a bit sorry for him. I can see why Bones…I don't want to go there. Temperance kissed me two hours ago and told me that she loves me. Whatever, went on with this kid…

"She speaks very highly of you."

Okay, maybe I don't like him so much.

"I'm assuming you mean Dr. Brennan."

"Yeah…she really thinks you're pretty amazing.

"Umm, yeah. Thanks."

"I don't think she likes your girlfriend so much, though."

Okay, what the hell? "Well, she's not my girlfriend anymore."

The kid grins, "Yeah, I got that. I think the news will make Dr. B' real happy."

He's staring at me like he's trying to tell me something, but can't say it.

"So, yeah…if you think of anything else, Murphy –"

"Yeah, I'll give you guys a call."

B&B&B&B&B&B

Being burned alive is a painful way to die. More than painful, the more accurate term would be excruciating, as the skin is filled with nerve endings designed to tell the brain of tactile contact, pain or pleasure, the sensory overload of pain is something I don't like to think about. As Dr. Saroyan continues with the flesh and I go over the bones, we both agree that the victim was dead before being burned. As I examine the bones, I find so many breaks and fractures…I know his death was still painful. I hope he went into shock and unconsciousness quickly. I consider the crack in the skull as cause of death, but quickly realize there isn't enough blood on the bone to have caused it. The blood had already ceased flowing to his brain at the time of impact. A single rib finally points to the cause of death. The victim was severely beaten, and in the process of that beating several of his ribs were broken, and not just in one place. As the beatings continued, a fractured piece of rib was hit repeatedly, and driven through his heart.

Despite my years of experience in seeing the aftermath of such brutality, the cruelty of our species is something I wonder about. Anthropologically speaking there are tribes of people who find the idea of attacking another appalling. It calls to question the idea of human nature being violent. Perhaps there is a collection of genes that create a tendency to violence in humans, or genes that create a disposition for peace and cooperation that have for the most part been reduced through evolution. I leave Mr. Bray to finish cleaning and cataloging the bones and their markers, and head to my office to start paperwork. A glance at my clock says its 8:45pm. I wonder how Booth is faring with his research and if he still wants to have dinner.

He kissed me this afternoon. He called me 'baby' on the phone. A week ago I was science geek who "didn't know how to talk like a normal person." Not like Hannah…

Angela has said to let him show me how he feels. It felt real when he kissed me. It felt real when he said he wished I'd stop talking so much. It looked real when he kissed her…

"Hey Bones."

I look up from my desk and Booth is leaning in the doorway watching me.

"Oh, hi Booth."

"I hear you found cause of death."

"Yes, we have established that in the course of being assaulted the sternum was fractured and the blows caused the bone to puncture the heart."

He continues to watch me and I feel myself flushing. "What is it Booth?"

"Nothing. It's just been a long time that I've let myself really see you."

I don't know what that means. He saw me before he left. He's seen me fairly often since we got back four months ago. Maybe not as often as before we left, but often enough. I am trying desperately to understand what he means. I don't want to be the science geek who can't understand basic English, I want to be –

"Bones?"

In my thinking I haven't noticed him approach my desk. Now he is watching my face with concern. I blink and force myself to smile.

"I feel hungry. Do you still want to go have dinner?"

He pauses, and I rush to fill in the silence. "We don't have to. I know it's late, and you're probably tired. I should just –"

"Bones. I'm staving too. There's just something we have to do first."

His eyes fall under the classification I have come to know as serious. They are also resigned and weary. It occurs to me that it has been a long time that I have been able to read his eyes. I realize it is because he is letting me.

"What is it?"

"We have to tell Gerry Johnson parents that their son was murdered."

"At this hour? Booth –"

"I don't want them finding out on the morning news."

"Why would they find out on the news…?"

The answer is in the set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. I know before he says anything.

"The FBI wants to hold a press conference tomorrow updating the public on the case."

"That's not usual protocol…is it because of his status of a successful athlete?"

"No."

I wait for him to say what I already know. I need him to say it, though I don't know why I do.

He walks to my side and touches my shoulder. "Hannah did a somewhat…challenging report about the investigation."

"Challenging what? There wasn't any –"

"Challenging us. The FBI, our work…my work, really."

"But that, it's not logical Booth. We've the highest –"

"It doesn't matter, Bones."

His short laugh is harsh. "Media is a powerful tool – and she knows it."

"She knows our work too, Booth. She knows we're the best."

"She knows I love it. Look, she's always been jealous of our work. Always wanted to be a part of it, always mad that I wouldn't let her go as far into it as she'd like. She pushed it this morning to see what I'd do. To see if great sex – "

The sudden stop in his tirade tells me he'd forgotten me for a moment, or at least forgotten that he'd kissed me today. I know the sex between them had to be excellent. After all Hannah has been all over the world, and is young, healthy, and beautiful to look at. I'm sure he's enjoyed her long golden hair draped over his chest, her –

"Temperance."

He is kneeling beside me. I hadn't seen him move. His eyes are scanning my face the way I might scan a skull, looking for signs of trauma to the bones…I know he is searching for a different kind of damage.

"I didn't think you loved her because the sexual relationship was bad, Booth."

"I didn't love her, Temperance…I wanted to, I told myself I did…told you - "

"- Let's not discuss it now, Booth. We need to go inform the parents, and I'm starving."

She's quiet in the car. I wish to God I hadn't lost it earlier. I wish a lot of things. This morning I'd been fucking that bitch. I think of her long hair falling down the sides of her face and the bile in my stomach churns. How could I have gotten myself involved with her? A sweet piece of ass is one thing, but moving her into my home, introducing her to my son? What's worse…she isn't really a bitch. She's self-centered in the way the driven often are, passionate, and volatile. Bones is driven, too…but she isn't self-centered. She isn't interested in glory, even though she has received a lot of it. Bones is driven by knowledge, by truth, and in a way justice. I wish I'd noted that difference in ambitions much earlier. But, yeah, I wish a lot of things.

She's staring out the window, the way she was this morning, but not. She's not scrunched up against the door and there isn't quite the tension… I think about dinner…she thought I didn't want to go to dinner….

"Hey, Bones?"

"Yes."

I feel her turn to look at me. Again, so different from this morning…

"I was wondering what kind of food you're in the mood for,"

"We don't have too, Booth. It will be late and –"

"Come on, Bones, it won't be that late. I've been looking forward to it all evening."

She is silent for a moment, "Really?"

It has, in fact, been only a day. The tone of her voice, part surprise, part hopeful, makes mine break a little. She doesn't trust me, or at least she doesn't trust that she's whom I want to be with, spend time with. I've done that: broken her trust in my caring. Despite the talk and the kiss today, the wounds run deep. A day, a week, months…a lifetime, I wonder how long it will take for them to really heal. Not that it matters. I ran from her defenses before. I won't ever again. However, what I say to her is, "Really."


	7. Tears in the Mirror

This was going to be a longer chapter, but then I realized this bit deserved its own space...

**TEARS in the MIRROR**

The Johnson house is a two-story brick enclave, circa 1900's. The windows have wooden shutters, dark green - as is the slanted roof. The lawn is well-kept, the hedges neatly trimmed. A white cement driveway runs up on the side to the white added on garage. The houses on this block are similar-looking, although a few are larger and the cost of them would be much higher. We walk up the small set of steps onto the porch and approach the simple white door. Booth is tense, and wearing his "telling the family of the victim's murder" expression. His jaw is set, shoulders sharply squared, and his deep brown eyes are very serious.

"You ready, Bones?"

He's turned to look at me. he has that half-smile on his face and I nod. In these situations Booth likes me to talk as little as possible. He prefers me to observe, the house, it's objects, the people in terms of any skeletal or muscular anomalies. He also doesn't want to upset the victim's family or tip off a suspect. That is most likely his first priority. Still, he's said on numerous occasions that my "neutral forensic anthropology eyes" often catch things he wouldn't have thought of. Not to mention that my photographic memory is as good as having a camera. All of which are true, but still, it is nice of him to say. At the time It surprised me so much that I didn't even tell him that the correct phrasing would be my "neutral forensic anthropologist eyes."

The doorbell chime is odd, but Booth seems charmed by it.

"Definitely a baseball house."

I don't think the statement is meant for me to give a response to, but it does still puzzle me.

Sometimes I wish I could process more abstractly. There is nothing about the house that signifies baseball... It must have something to do with the odd sounding doorbell. Perhaps I will ask Booth about it later.

"Gerry, honey, did you forget your key?"

The woman's voice coming towards the door is soft and the slight accent sounds like she is originally from South Carolina. She peers through the door's peephole and I assume sees both of us.

"Can I help y'all with something?"

Booth holds up his badge so that she can see it.

"Sorry to disturb you so late Mrs. Johnson. I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth from the FBI and this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian."

"Who's at the door, babe?"

"It's the FBI!"

The door opens and I am looking down at the same eyes and general facial structure of Gerald Johnson.

"How, I mean what, what can we help you with Special Agent Booth?"

"Agent Booth's fine, Mrs. Johnson, and we're here to discuss your son."

"He looks very much like you."

Booth glances briefly at me. I didn't mean to say it. I just wasn't expecting so clear of a resemblance. When you've held a skull in your hands, felt its shape, its nuances, and then see so similar a face in the same day, it can be somewhat startling.

Mrs. Johnson seems less upset by my remarks than Booth, because she gives me a big smile.

"Yes, he does. People often remark on it. His height is all his father though."

"Yes, I can see that."

A tall burly man has stepped into the foyer. He and Booth are eye to eye, which doesn't happen often. He is older than Booth, but doesn't look at all as old as his actual age would indicate. His blond hair is turning silver and the creases around his eyes are many. There's a fair amount of sun damage to his skin that makes his face quite freckled. He is also quite clearly a very physically active man, as his physic in excellent condition.

"What on earth would the FBI want with Gerry?"

I can see that Mrs. Johnson is scared as her husband asks the question. Her ribcage pulls in and her eyes widen. My work with Sweets has helped me a great deal. Not the psychological work with Booth - that had been a complete waste of time. However, the facial recognition work and subsequent learning to read body language has been invaluable over these last two years.

Subtle words, voices, intonations, they rarely register in my brain. Sweets realized that perhaps my attention to detail could help me by assigning meaning to the various nuances that the face and body go through. In situations like this I find it relatively easy. It is during personal interactions that it is much harder, as the hormonal and neurotransmitter changes effect my concentration and thus my ability to recall what body changes go with what emotion. In truth, even when not emotionally invested, I find it tiring to try and follow it all and still be able to process and think. People can change expression in seconds. They are not like bones or artifacts, which simply are what they are, in whatever condition, and unless mishandled, stay that way.

"Something's happened to him, hasn't it! Something's wrong!"

"Calm down, Melinda, let the man talk."

I glance over at Booth; his jaw is clenched again. He hates doing this. I am tempted to blurt out that their son has been murdered, just so that he doesn't have to, but then his eyes briefly meet mine, and in that instant I know he's okay.

"Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, I am sorry to be here so late, but your son, Gerry, was found murdered this morning."

Mrs. Johnson let's a wail as Mr. Johnson grows pale beneath his sun-freckled skin. Suddenly, Mrs. Johnson turns and starts pounding on her husband.

"I told you something was wrong! I TOLD YOU! He always comes home, always, always!"

Mr. Johnson doesn't try to stop her. There is moisture in his eyes, and his large arms encircle her shoulders, rendering the blows soft and inefficient against his chest. After a few moments she collapses against him while sobbing hysterically.

I understand that she is devastated, and I feel sad watching this. As he strokes her hair, rocking her softly, as she cries and screams into his chest, I think that we shouldn't _be_ watching this moment. It feels too personal and intimate, but there isn't anywhere to go...so we watch. 


	8. Chapter 8  Reflection

Reflection.

She's been quiet since the Johnson's. I watch her toy with her tofu and broccoli as I chow down on my Kung Chow Chicken. We've never eaten here before. Usually we'd be at Wong Foo's, but this was close by and we were both starving.

"Penny for your thoughts, Bones"

Immediately, her head snaps up.

"My thoughts are worth far more than a penny, Booth."

I bite back a smile. Sometimes it's good that she's so predictable.  
At least I know what can get her attention when I want it.

"It's just an expression. It means I'd like to know what you're thinking about."

"Well, why didn't you just as - "

"- What are you thinking about, Bones?"

She pauses, and looks down a moment.

"The Johnson case."

"What about it?"

"Mr. Johnson was sad, but -"

"Well, he did just find out -"

"Will you let me finish my damn sentence!"

I think both of us are surprised at her outburst. She's wide-eyed, as if she can't believe what came out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Booth! I didn't mean -"

"It's okay, Bones."

After the initial shock, little blips of memory flash through my mind. Times of cutting her off, rolling my eyes at her squint speak. She usually would keep talking. I never thought she even noticed those things. Of course, I hadn't thought she'd been sad about Hannanh either. I reach across the table to touch her hand.

"I should have let you finish.

We both know my apology isn't just about now. The memories continue to flash and I feel my face turn hot with shame. I hadn't been just impatient, I'd been mean, trying to make her seem less necessary. No wonder she doubts that I love her. Jesus, how is she even sitting across from me?

"I should always let you finish, I mean, you're the genius, Bones, and, more important, my partner, and best friend. You, of all people, you are more than worth listening to. I'm sorry I cut you off."

I'm falling into the blue of her eyes as they mist over.

"I know I'm worth listening to, Booth. It's just that, well sometimes I know I can't seem to find the language that 99% of the population understands - which can definitely be a handicap."

Handicap? Sure, she can be difficult to follow sometimes, but a handicap. My Bones is NOT handicap and if I've made her feel -

"Booth."

Her quiet voice breaks through my frantic thoughts and I look up ready to explain how I never want her to feel that way. However, I notice a sparkle in her eyes, and a tiny smile on her lips...no way.

"Temperance Brennan, was that a joke"

Her smiles blooms wider as she gives a small nod.

"I got you."

I can't help it - I laugh aloud - as much from her forgiveness as the joke itself.

"That was very funny!"

"I know."

Bones giggles. Bones giggles and I am grinning.

"OK, Ms. Comedian, you gonna finish telling me about Mr. Johnson?"

I watch her face go from relaxed to pensive. Then she sighs.

"He was sad, but he was scared - his face lost color. I thought it was odd, but then I realized he was looking at his wife. He was scared for her... He let her hit him, Booth. He put aside his own grief to take on hers."

She stops talking and looks at me expectantly, after everything, she still thinks I have all the answers when it comes to people... I don't, but I can answer this one.

"He loves her, Bones."

"But...it's his son, Booth, his only son, an Alpha Male's pride and heritage. You would -"

" - Don't go there, Bones. Don't even say it."

"I won't. I just...how can he love his wife more than his son?"

"They aren't the same kind of love, Bones."

"His son is dead, Booth. He will never see him again, hear his voice, watch him play baseball, or hold his first child. His wife is alive and here. How is her grief so much more important that his loss? I don't understand!"

Okay, I'm stunned. Bones is seriously upset and frustrated about this. I need to give it some deeper thought. If something did - God forbid - happen to Parker - would I be comforting Rebecca? We certainly aren't anywhere near being in love, but Parker is from when we were. How would I feel? Devastated, certainly. I couldn't hide that.

I've seen the death of child tear long-standing couples apart, as well as draw them closer...but Rebecca and I aren't a couple. I try imagining if Bones and I...

"I'm sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"You aren't. I'm just trying to think of how to answer this."

I glance up at her serious baby-blues. Amazing that for things like this she still trusts me for the answers. Maybe she shouldn't.

"I think every situation is different, Bones. A child, is a usually a symbol of the love you've shared with someone else."

"Not -"

"Hey, I get to finish my sentences, too."

I hide my grin as she looks properly chastened. No need to let her know it's not that big a deal.

"I'm sorry, Booth. You're right. Please continue."

"When it is a situation where love's involved, there's no escaping the fact that when you look at that child, you remember that love. Even if it no longer exists. Maybe, he holds her to remember that the love is still here, even though the symbol is gone."

In can see she is trying to process this, but then she stops and looks up at me.

"I love Parker because he's your son. However, even if he was not, I love him for his charm and intelligence, his big metaphorical heart, which I believe he's inherited from you - by nature or nurture. I love him for his trust in me, and the times we've spent together - with or without you."

Whoa. Was not expecting _that_. Sometimes gifts from Heaven come very unexpectedly. I mean, I had to coax Hannah into meeting Parker. Just another sign of the kind of idiot I've been.

"Parks loves you, too, Bones."

I can barely get the words out, I'm choking on emotions I am not ready to process yet. It's been a heavily emotional day already.

"I know."

There's no smugness in her reply, none of her usual bravado. She's got this soft smile on her face and she is, for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. My Bones is getting more intuitive about emotions.

"How do you know?"

She blinks and hits me with that, "isn't that obvious" look of hers.

"He told me."

More unexpected information. My son, unlike his father, is apparently smart enough to know that you have to be direct with Bones. I nod.

"Yeah, well, just in case you'd forgotten."

She gives me another patented Bones look. It's the coy and amused one that's always made me hot and bothered. I wonder if she knows how it makes me want to grab her from across the table and kiss her so deeply it's like making love with our mouths.

I take a deep breath. I know I won't be kissing her again for a while, weeks, maybe months. Not until she can really trust us. Not until she can really believe that the love I feel and have felt isn't ephemeral. It didn't disappear in less than a year, or transfer to someone else. I need for her to understand what I've only just figured out today; great sex doesn't mean love. I can't believe how long I've thought otherwise. Me, the guy who's scorned sex for making love, has probably been calling straight up sex "making love" for large chunks of my life. Must be my Catholic upbringing. I need to have a talk with Father O'Malley about this.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think she knows?"

"Mrs. Johnson? Knows what?"

"That he is ignoring his own grief to deal with hers?"

Where is this coming from?

"She's in her own grief, Bones. Probably not."

She looks down for a moment and then looks up with me with suddenly fierce eyes.

"Don't ever do that for me...I know I am not the best at gauging others emotional responses. Although I am more adept at it with you, my skill is mediocre at best."

"Bones -"

"- I would not want you to hide your sadness or grief from me, even if I were sad myself. I want to know what you feel when you feel it, but sometimes the only way I can know is if you tell me. It would make me very sad to know you were in emotional pain and not sharing it with me. It hurts to think of you being sad and alone...Although seeing you with Hannah has been painful for me, I was happy that you had someone in Afghanistan. I was glad to know you did not have to go through that by yourself."

I am speechless as she blurts all this out. I don't think I can take much more of these revelations tonight. As for Hannah, I hate the very sound of her name.

"I don't want to talk about her, Bones. She was a mistake."

"No, Booth, she -"

"Temperance!"

Shit, I didn't mean to be so sharp. However, Bones isn't about to back down.

"She's what you needed under the circumstances, Booth!"

Fuck. She's right. Of course.

"I didn't mean to snap at you, Bones."

"I didn't see you snap?"

With just that one look of utter confusion on her face, the tension drains out of me. God, I love her.

"It means I didn't mean to get angry."

"Well, yes, no one does. It just happens. Emotions are an unpredictable variable."

"I don't want to talk about Hannah."

"I see that. It makes you angry. I don't understand why, but, I am glad you expressed that it does... I don't want to hurt you Booth, so I need you to tell me if I am. Or if something makes you sad, or if something I'm doing is something you would rather I didn't...I need the words, Booth. I wish I were more like you or Angela in that regard. You understand feelings without being told. I, I'm not like that."

"I love you."

She blinks, clearly not understanding why I am saying that.

"You said you needed the words to understand my feelings. I love you."

"Booth!"

I laugh. Her cheeks are turning pink and she is completely exasperated with me."

"I just - don't ever treat me the way he's treating her or I will kick your ass!"

I nod, trying to keep a straight face.

"I promise, Bones."

She is staring me down. We grin at the same time. She looks down at her plate to spear a piece of tofu before looking up beneath her lashes,and that coy little smile is on her face again.

"Good."

I smile back, because right now, everything is just that.


	9. Chapter 9  Morning Musings

Morning Musings

Booth will be on television today. I admit, I am very happy that I don't have to be with him for the press conference. He blames Hannah for this press conference, but I don't know why exactly. She is a journalist and pushing for the truth is what they do - even if they have to lie to get it. It's an odd undertaking. Hopefully, that he will keep him busy today. Too busy to stop by the lab for some reason that is just as easily taken care of by email.

Last night was...difficult. I was already feeling overwhelmed by the events of the day. Throughout the day I could still see his face as told me that I really was the one, that he loves me. The feel of his mouth on mine, each remembrance sent chemicals roaring through by body, preparing it for sex so that I was perpetually wet between my thighs. Then, between informing the victim's parents of their son's death and dinner afterward my emotional self was fighting to take over. How I managed to not to kiss him again, not to drag him through the door of my apartment and entice him to engage in sexual intercourse right there...I don't know.

In Maluka I would dream about having sex with him. He was the only masturbatory fantasy that could bring me to orgasm. I would see things in the jungle, along the shore and wonder what he would think of them. I worried about him in Afghanistan...that was part of my realization. I was going to worry about Booth whether I was with him or thousands of miles away. I would hear his opinion on things whether he was by my side or not. And I would physically desire him, to the point that other men held no sexual interest for me anymore. I had changed without realizing it, and there was no changing back. Even when we came back and I discovered that he also had changed.

There were so many things I'd wanted to tell him, but when he showed me her picture, said it was serious, those thoughts died. I buried them in an instant and wasted no time mourning. Love... Clearly it was an ephemeral experience, or if not, it was one I would most likely never fully experience.

Throughout his relationship with Hannah I was angry with myself. I had been attracted to him immediately; from the moment I heard his voice and saw him across the room, an absolute alpha male, challenging me in my own domain. He meant to fluster me, I'm sure, but I simply refuted his incorrect statement. I dismissed the class, and as he walked toward me I could feel that the chemicals that create sexual arousal had already started flowing through my bloodstream. Judging by his dark, dilated eyes that discreetly perused my body, I knew the same was happening to him.

I hadn't felt that much stimuli since...Michael. When he gave me his challenge I felt as driven to prove myself as I had with Michael. I don't know why I thought I had to prove I was the best to him. I had my credentials. I had even surpassed Michael, which had definitely put a wedge in our sexual friendship. Yet, I was driven to find out all I could about this dead girl. I felt the adrenaline rush through me at the thought of showing him what I could do. I wanted - needed to impress him. Angela noticed my urgency, and when I admitted that the man who wanted the information was attractive, she agreed to work up a sketch for me.

The feeling should have warned me about what was happening, but feelings were things I'd long since locked away. They were allowed out for a unique scientific find, babies, and the occasional sad movie seen with Angela. (She calls them "Chick Flicks" which makes no sense to me).

Thus, it is not until recently that I've seen that my initial reaction to Booth was very similar to the one I'd had with Michael all those years ago. He doubted my abilities, and that challenge felt familiar. While I had engaged in _many _very pleasurable sexual encounters and connections, nothing had made me feel the way I had with Michael way again - until Booth...

"Dr. Brennan!"

I am snapped out of my musing by the irate voice of Sweets. He is leaning forward on my desk, legs akimbo, and a scowl across his youthful countenance.

"Hello, Dr. Sweets. Why are you here? Did I miss an appointment?"

My words seem to cause him more distress. He stands up and glares at me.

"I been standing here saying hello for -"

He takes a quick glance at his watch.

" - approximately three and a half minutes. Did you think if you ignored me enough I'd go away?"

"To ignore is to pretend something is not when actually you know that it is. Being that I was unaware of your presence, I could not, in fact, have been ignoring you."

In exasperation, Sweets wipes his hand down his face.

"Fine, whatever. I'm here because I worked up a profile on your victim's killer."

"Isn't that something you would address with Booth?"

"Normally, yes. However, I was told he's unavailable this morning and I am leading a group therapy session dealing with PTST, and will unavailable this afternoon."

I often forget that Sweets does have other duties than following Booth and me around all day.

"Very well, what thoughts do you have on this?"

"Thoughts?"

"Yes, thoughts"

I don't understand his questioning, and he appears upset again.

"So I've moved up from guessing now. Excellent!"

"I have come to see that you do in fact apply logic to very unpredictable variables. While certainly not what could be called facts, they do require the ability to take a vast amount of data to create a workable hypothesis. It takes great skill, intellect, and thought to do so."

"Wow. Okay...I think that's the most respectful thing I've ever heard you say about my work. I'm -"

" - Sweets, what do you need me to tell Booth?"

"Right, the profile. The attacker is most likely someone very attached to the victim."

"That's impossible, Sweets people are not -"

"- By attached, I mean the person knew and had a personal connection to the victim."

"What is the basis for this hypothesis?"

"The victim was severely beaten in a seemingly random manner of attack. The number of breaks suggest a beating out of anger or rage. However, there is NO signs of injury to the victim's face."

"This is correct. The victim's face shows no sign of injury."

"That fact implies that the attacker cared about the victim. To wage such a severe beating on every part of the body, and yet not touch the face shows that the attacker, even within a rage, could not bear to destroy the face of the victim."

"Sweets, I fail to see the logic in this. How can being beaten to death be a sign of caring for someone?"

"I would say that this was likely to be someone with a temper, someone very invested in who the victim was, and that something occurred that enraged the attacker, causing a violent response. This is a person used to being in authority, and any infraction to the rules he or she imposes sets off a rage reaction."

"So you're saying that the attacker knew the victim?"

"Yes...or thought so. We're looking for an obsessive personality, who -"

"Like Pam."

Sweets, who had been pacing intensely as he spoke, stopped. He pauses before looking at Brennan.

"Yes, like Pam."

For a moment I see Booth before me, his blood pouring through my hands, shot by a woman aiming for me - because of a non-existent love relationship between her and Booth, a relationship that I was jeopardizing.

"Dr. Brennan?"

I am startled out of my memory, but the memory does bring up a question."

"If the attacker was obsessed with the victim, why would they kill them?"

"The attacker most likely saw the victim as disappointing his or her expectations, and, as I said, became enraged. It's not unusual for a stalker to kill the object of their obsession."

"The victim would have known his attacker - there really was so little head trauma. The attacker was close enough to swing a bat and strike the victim.

"That's entirely possible. Like I said, the attacker had to care about the victim, so they may in fact have known each other. However, there isn't a way for me to ascertain the victim's relationship to the attacker, only the attacker to the victim."

"I will give your information to Booth. Perhaps he can find out if our victim had any fans that were inappropriate in their behavior."

Sweets nods, but then just stands there. He appears to be staring at my floor.

Dr. Sweets, is there anything else?"

Umm, yeah..."

He is still standing there. Finally, he stops looking at my floor.

"Do you know if Agent Booth is...really out somewhere, or is he just trying to avoid me?"

"I doubt he is trying to avoid you any more than he usually does. However, today he actually had to attend an early press conference."

"A press conference?"

"Yes."

Sweets gives a short laugh, "Will Hannah be attending?"

"I assume so, but -"

Sweets rolls his eyes, "A 'press conference.'

"Yes. A press conference. Have you been having hearing issues, Sweets? If so - "

"Dr. Brennan, he isn't at a press conference, he's with Hannah! Like, really Booth, you're using codes now? That certainly inspires partner trust. Jesus..."

Sweets words surprise me, and for a moment I give them consideration. However, logic wins out over my fears. Booth would have no reason to plot such an elaborate ruse. Especially one that could so easily be proven false.

Now, I must decide what to do about Sweets. Clearly he is unaware of Booth's breakup and I don't want to be the one to inform him. At the same time Sweets is becoming more agitated, and I would rather Booth not have to deal with Sweets in such a state. Booth might actually hit him.

"Booth really is at a press conference, Sweets. There has been some question about the FBI's competence in handling our cases and it was decided that Booth needed to address them."

"What! When did this happen?"

"Last night on the 6:00 news."

"Oh, really? What channel?"

"The same one that Hannah appears on."

"Hannah's network ran a negative story on the FBI and didn't tell Booth?"

I'm surprised by his change in demeanor. He seems to find this idea very pleasing. However, I don't want to encourage more conversation, so I just nod. He reacts by suddenly clapping his hands together, and a huge grin appears on his face.

"Man, this is gonna be EPIC! Tell Booth I will totally need to speak with him today."

Epic? I don't understand his use of the word, but don't ask about it.

"I will relay the message."

I am not sure if he heard me as he turned and left at a very fast pace.

I hope I haven't created a problem for Booth. Booth...I am curious to find out the outcome of this morning's events. Booth had seemed worried, but I fail to see how the facts could possibly be interpreted as anything but excellent work. I can also admit to myself that the other thought in my mind is concern over how Booth will feel once he sees Hannah again.


	10. The Settling Dust

Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch. Why aren't I feeling calmer? Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch. Flip. The damn chip curves slightly away and I know I'm gonna miss it. I _could_ scoot my chair a bit and catch it, but don't bother. Stupid chip. Why do I hold on to the damn thing anyway? It's a part of my PAST. "No Seeley, it's a part of YOU. Willing to rear up and send you flying at any moment. It's why you're in this mess now."

Higher Power. My Catholic upbringing says it's the still, small, voice Abraham heard in the cave, the voice of God. My FBI self says it's me remembering the words of my sponsor this morning. In any event, it's enough for me to look under my desk to grab the thing. Of course, that's. Hacker comes in. I scoot up back in my chair while slipping the chip in my pocket.

"Oh, come on! Special Agent Booth, there's no reason to be hiding under your desk. It's just a press conference."

Assistant Director Doofus. I hate him. I really do,

"Assistant Director Hacker, Sir, good morning,"

"Sir? Oh man, you are _so_ not happy."

I have the right to remain silence. Anything I say can, and will, be used against me."

"Just retrieving a pen, Sir."

"Booth, cut the 'Sir' we aren't doing the conference right this second."

I can't help but smirk at the subtext: when we are doing the conference, I _will_ be expected to be using the full protocol of 'sir'.

"Just staying in practice, Hacker."

He actually laughs at that. The man has the most annoying laugh, but I manage a smile, because, hey, he's the assistant director and because of my petty ex-girlfriend we have to do damage control for the bureau. I follow him out of my office to the elevator.

B&B&B&B

There isn't a huge crowd of reporters, which on the one hand is good. The part that isn't so great is that it means I can see Hannah clearly. Of course, I probably would have anyway. While the rest of the press corp are in tailored suits and office wear, she's wearing some kind of black see-through jacket and a red tank top. I never really thought about how she dressed for work, but seeing her with all the other reporters, it occurs to me there's a reason that her biggest interviews have been men.

I can't believe I missed how petty she is, how childish...or maybe it's more...how driven. I should have turned her in that day in Afghanistan, but my dick shut off my brain. If I had turned her in she'd have lost her assignment - she'd had way too many warnings. Maybe gratitude and my rugged good looks had nothing to do with her blowing me right then and there. Looking at her now, the memory makes me sick.

"I can see why you were dating."

Hacker's snide little whisper makes it worse. Especially since I know he's actually trying to do some male-bonding/solidarity thing before we actually get up to the podium.

"Let's just get this over with. Sir."

Hacker chuckles as he steps to the podium.

B&B&B&B

I do not generally watch television. However, I find myself walking to the staff lounge. I am never in there unless I don't feel like going out for coffee, or I wish to speak with an intern in a more relaxed, spontaneous way. It is something I have been making more of an effort to do since returning from Maluka. As such, I am aware that aside from vending machines with highly caloric, chemically preserved, sugary snacks and drinks, a microwave, coffee machine, sink, and refrigerator, there is, mounted high on the wall, a television.

Andrew is standing in front of a podium with his usual smirk. I find it hard to believe that I felt so desperate for sex that I tried to imagine having intercourse with him. Thankfully, I am not overly imaginative and could not create that image. The idea was even more ridiculous than me having sex with the child-like Mr. Nigel-Murray.

I can see Booth standing in the background. He is stoic, looking straight ahead - very much like a solider at attention. The volume is down, so I can't here what's being said. Glancing around I see the remote on the counter. As I turn up the volume, Andrew's slightly nasal voice drones in.

"Special Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan's unconventional partnership does in fact have the highest caseload solve rate in the FBI's homicide division; However, the numbers being compared are VERY high numbers. Furthermore, although Special Agent Booth is not one to brag, he had the highest solve rate BEFORE working with Dr. Brennan. The pairing has simply increased the solve rate from remarkable to extraordinary."

Booth has never mentioned this fact to me. It's something I would remember.

"Then why doesn't he have your job?"

I recognize her voice, but I can't believe it. Booth is none reactive, while Andrew is turning red. Still, he smiles at her.

"The jobs require very different skill sets, Ms..."

"Burley, WNBS Fox 9."

"Aside from the general skills required of an FBI agent in the field, Special Agent Booth has proven to be one of the few people able to bridge the level of high-end scientific understanding that the Jeffersonian provides with the more psychological profiling and investigative work involved in a federal homicide investigation. His skills in this area are somewhat irreplaceable."

I can't stop grinning. The other reason Booth could never do Andrew's job would be Booth's inability to praise someone he intensely dislikes. Andrew is doing it flawlessly. I notice that Booth still hasn't even smiled. It occurs to me that his presence isn't even necessary.

"Is special agent Booth incapable of speaking for himself?"

The press corp twitters a bit. Booth still doesn't react. He's as still as I imagine him to be as when working as a sniper...Andrew glances back at Booth and I watch him approach the the podium and take the mic. He is looking directly at Hannah. I know understand the meaning of the phrase, "if looks could kill."

"The only reason I'm here wasting valuable time from an ongoing murder investigation is to answer any _pertinent_ questions the media might have - because apparently it's more important that the media be kept abreast of our every move so that headlines can be made than to actually bring a murder victim to justice. So, let's have your questions so I can get back to work."

Watching him speak so assertively I feel proud...and sexually aroused - again. It's like watching him do an interrogation. I feel proud to be his partner, to hear him defend the importance of of work in comparison to the selling of newspapers or boosting ratings. In this game of good cop bad cop, Booth was definitely the bad cop... It's odd. I never went for bad boys, but somehow, when Booth is playing bad I just want to have him naked and inside me. Maybe it's all that pent up aggression that is so visible and yet leased. Fuck. This is NOT a helpful train of thought. Time to click off the television. As I walk back to my office, the thought occurs to me that at least I can be sure that whatever he did have with Hannah has clearly fallen into metaphorical rubble.

B&B&B&B&B&B

As I'm leaving the podium to get back to work I watch Hannah trying not to scowl as her stupid little revenge story is falling apart before her eyes. Once I was asked about the victim's identity all interest in an FBI witch-hunt ceased. There were a couple of nice comments about how quickly the victim had been identified, questions about any theories we might have, and then a bit about the gravedigger sentencing that would be happening in a few weeks. At that point, Hacker took over and I'd been free to go. I could go go straight to work, but honestly just her looking at me makes me feel like I need a shower.


End file.
